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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877654">Latent Heat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SashaDistan/pseuds/SashaDistan'>SashaDistan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Pidge | Katie Holt, Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beta Keith (Voltron), Claiming Bites, Friends to Lovers, Hand Feeding, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Knotting Dildos, Love Confessions, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Jargon, No mpreg, Omega Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Relationship Advice, Scenting, Shiro in athleisure clothes, Slow Burn, Sparring</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:35:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>50,150</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877654</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SashaDistan/pseuds/SashaDistan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith is twenty-one years old, male, and a beta. He is Head Flight Mechanic at the Garrison air base, fast on a hoverbike, and is best friends with an alpha. An alpha he keeps trilling at.<br/>And now he's grown fucking fangs overnight...</p><p>Or: the one where Keith is a late presenting omega, about to have his first heat, and dealing with it very badly.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith &amp; Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith &amp; Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1778</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Trill</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Me, in December: what's omegaverse?<br/>Me, in March: guys, do you think I should write an omegaverse fic?<br/>Me, in May: it could have more than one chapter, right?<br/>Me, now in June: well, that's a small novel....</p><p>so, welcome to my first ever omegaverse fic. Fic is finished and will be updated twice weekly.</p><p>Art featured in this chapter was commissioned from <a href="https://twitter.com/babushkaHiHi">BabushkaHiHi</a> who is super skilled and was great to work with. Thank you!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Keith stands up, arching his back in a deep stretch, and slots the wrench into its holster on his hip as his spine pops in a satisfying manner. He surveys the newly reassembled engine fan before him with a smile, which only broadens as he hears the tell-tale sound of Shiro’s rig entering the hanger. The fan can wait, because not only does Keith always have time for his favourite alpha, but catching up with his best friend is the highlight of each and every day. He turns in time to see the distinctive and highly polished jet settle smoothly on the hanger floor, then grits his teeth as the first of the followers finds their floor markers with what is only <em>not a crash</em> by pure luck. Keith growls. The jet has orange teaching stripes across both nose and wings, marking it as different from Shiro’s, which is black and grey and sleek. Not only is the student craft smoking from the tail, but one wing and part of the hull show the unmistakable gouges of a recent near collision. Keith wipes his hands on a rag and starts across the main floor just as Shiro jumps down from his cockpit.</p>
<p class="western">The sight never fails to make his heart race. Shiro, the best pilot and greatest instructor Keith has ever known or worked with, tugging his helmet off to reveal dark hair with a shock of white bangs, beaming wide with shining fangs, and raising a hand in greeting. He almost forgets the sour notes of the student craft, until the main hatch opens with a squeal that has everybody covering their ears.</p>
<p class="western">“Hey Keith!”</p>
<p class="western">“Hey. Good flight?”</p>
<p class="western">“Really good. Those new bearings in the joystick controls are making for really smooth turns. Much less drag on the wrist.”</p>
<p class="western">Keith hunches his shoulders in a half shrug, mostly to allow himself to hide the blush which comes automatically with praise from Shiro. The bigger man ruffles his inky hair with another fond grin.</p>
<p class="western">“I’m going to talk to Command about having them installed in all the standard issue crafts.”</p>
<p class="western">“Shiro! You can’t-”</p>
<p class="western">“You got the patent, didn’t you?” Shiro arches a thick eyebrow at him, but his lips are still turned up in a little, private smile. Keith nods. “Your designs are great Keith, and I love testing them for you. But they have the potential to improve the flying of everyone here.”</p>
<p class="western">Noise from behind Shiro interrupts Keith’s train of thought, which is probably a good thing. His mind has been stuck on his friend’s voice saying ‘love’ and ‘Keith’ in such close proximity, and Keith really shouldn’t let himself think about things like that. They’re just friends after all. Shiro doesn’t think of him as anything else.</p>
<p class="western">The pair of them turn to look at the pilot of the damaged ship and Keith rolls his eyes.</p>
<p class="western"><a id="__DdeLink__414_3187682703" name="__DdeLink__414_3187682703"></a> “Well… maybe not <em>his</em>,” they mutter in unison. Keith flushes and hides behind his bangs, but Shiro simply slides an arm over his shoulder – easy, familiar, comforting despite the textures of the prosthetic plates– and his scent washes briefly warm and buttery, before the cold notes of sour annoyance creep in.</p>
<p class="western">“McClain...” Shiro removes his arm from around Keith’s shoulder and folds both across his chest, his face turning hard with disapproval.</p>
<p class="western">The approaching omega appears not to notice, all proud and bold with his helmet under one arm, grinning like a loon at his fellow students as they file toward their instructor, clearly full of himself.</p>
<p class="western">“That’s why they call me the tailor,” he crows, “’cause of how good I can thr-”</p>
<p class="western">“You can explain what the fuck you’ve just done to a four hundred-thousand-dollar low altitude jet,” Keith snaps. “And then you can spend a long time convincing your Captain not to take the damages out of your pay.”</p>
<p class="western">Keith’s interruption brings the student up short. He’s not tall, about the same height as Keith is, and the studs on his lapel mark him out as a Senior Cadet, Second Class; which Keith thinks is rather fitting. He does however, look down at Keith, and Keith knows why.</p>
<p class="western">“It’s barely scratched.”</p>
<p class="western">“I hope you’re not so cavalier with your teammates lives, if you ever manage to graduate and be handed an actual mission,” Keith sneers.</p>
<p class="western">“Oh for- he’s fine! He overreacted!”</p>
<p class="western">“Wait- what?” Keith tunes out the omega’s hurried explanation of his actions to Shiro, and fixes his attention on the shape of another alpha, still wavering near the parked jet. This one dressed in the mid-khaki cargo gear, favoured by the Engineering Department and looking decidedly green around the grills. “You did a barrel roll with your engineer onboard?!”</p>
<p class="western">“He threw up on one of the systems panels,” another Cadet supplies helpfully, “I heard it over the comms.”</p>
<p class="western">Keith passes a hand over his eyes to try and control his temper, as he hears the Cadets begin to roast the not-sheepish looking McClain, over the fact that ‘vomit is not an approved lubricant’. Keith’s not in on their jokes and doesn’t care to be; but what is his concern, is that when he next looks up, McClain is smiling despite the craft he flew still smoking behind him. He grits his teeth.</p>
<p class="western">“You-” he jabs a finger into the omega’s sternum with force “-won’t be getting off the ground again before the end of the year. That’s if they don’t move you back to shuttle class, where you <em>so clearly</em> belong!”</p>
<p class="western">“Back off!” The omega snarls at him, showing fangs, point tipped canines and spiked premolars. “You’re just a mechanic.” He doesn’t say, ‘and a beta’ but Keith can see him wanting to. “You’ve no right to talk to me that way.”</p>
<p class="western">“McClain!” Shiro’s voice is low and immutable. Everyone stills, including Keith. “See to your engineer and take him to Medical. Then you will return to clean the systems panel, and anything else which got… sullied. If you have time after that, I suggest you eat something before you report to the obstacle course at eighteen-hundred hours. You can help take the first years through their paces tonight.”</p>
<p class="western">“But Sir… it’s already-” The omega stares at the Captain with wide eyes.</p>
<p class="western">“Well then, you’d best get going.” Shiro prompts. Keith folds his arms as he watches McClain turn and skid away in a fluster. “The rest of you, deliver your comm downloads for Diagnostics and go hit the showers. We’ll debrief tomorrow. Class dismissed.”</p>
<p class="western">Keith doesn’t watch them go, but starts towards the heavily damaged student jet, already cataloguing the replacement parts he’ll require and tasks that need to get done in his head. The thing will be out of service for at least two weeks, depending on if and how badly the interior controls got damaged by someone being sick on them. Shiro’s hand on his shoulder stops him and steers him away in the same movement.</p>
<p class="western">“Shi-?”</p>
<p class="western">“Leave it. He’ll clean it alright. He’s scared not to.”</p>
<p class="western">“He actually thinks you’ll ground him?” Keith raises an eyebrow. Shiro is not the best instructor at the Garrison base – or anywhere in Keith’s personal opinion – for nothing; and though he is hard on his students, he does not tend to deal in punishments of denial. Not flying does not make someone better at it.</p>
<p class="western">“Until he can execute all the sims correctly, and completes another ethics in passenger safety course, yes.”</p>
<p class="western">“Dude...” Keith’s arched eyebrow is enough to show his surprise at the harsh-but-fair treatment.</p>
<p class="western">“It’s his own damn fault. Kid should know by now not pull stunts like that.” Shiro sighs heavily, running fingers though his two-tone hair. Keith knows that Shiro’s hair is unbelievably soft, but he tries not to think about it. “Couple of the other staff were out doing observations. He was showing off for the Lieutenant.”</p>
<p class="western">Keith knows exactly who Shiro means, because Lieutenant Allura Alforson is the most beautiful woman in this or any other universe, and a decent person to boot. She always thanks him, and smells genuine when she does so, when it’s Keith who serviced or out-fitted one of her crafts. She doesn’t flirt with anyone that Keith knows about, she’s quick as a whip and smart like a fox; and Keith can’t help but feel the tiniest pang of pity for the omega pilot who has his sights set on her. No barrel roll is going to impress that alpha.</p>
<p class="western">He rolls his eyes.</p>
<p class="western">“Omegas and their crushes.”</p>
<p class="western">“Keith?” Shiro’s half-shocked expression is enough to still Keith. “I’m surprised at you. You’re not usually one to judge based on gender stereotypes.”</p>
<p class="western">Keith ducks his head as Shiro walks with him back over to the main workbench where his tools and the engine fan are still waiting for him, alongside the in-repair Garrison-issue hoverbike.</p>
<p class="western">“Sorry, sorry. But you know what I mean. They all fuss about and try to pretend they don’t like someone when even <em>I</em> can smell that they do. Alphas are just, more decisive. Easier to deal with.”</p>
<p class="western">“Oh really?”</p>
<p class="western">“Yeah. Like, if an alpha is crushing on someone they just come right out and say it, even if getting rejected hurts.”</p>
<p class="western">Shiro glances at him, brow faintly furrowed, lips pursed.</p>
<p class="western">“We’re not all so brave you know.”</p>
<p class="western">Keith barks a laugh, unbuckling his tool belt from around his thigh and hips, before slinging it onto the workbench. He elbows Shiro in the ribs with a grin.</p>
<p class="western">“Ha! You’re the bravest guy I ever met, like you’d know...”</p>
<p class="western">Shiro wastes no time in reaching out with his stupidly long arms to knuckle Keith’s hair in return. Keith jabs him in the ribs again, but with the pointy edge of his fist this time, and they almost instantly fall to playful rough housing. Which turns very quickly into Shiro trying to tickle him whilst Keith does his best to fend him off, without accidentally kicking him anywhere too soft and painful.</p>
<p class="western">Keith ends up on his back on the gritty, uncomfortable floor of the hanger, panting and laughing beneath his friend. Shiro’s frost-white floof falls into his face as he hangs his head – the alpha is breathing hard too – and Keith hopes his own blushing reaction can be explained by the exertion of the tussle rather than the effect of Shiro’s closeness. Shiro shoots him a broad smile, all fangs on display in a way that Keith expects would be intimating if he hadn’t also seen Shiro coo and fawn over puppies and baby animals of all kinds on many occasions. He then jumps up into a crouch, offering out the black and grey fingers of his prosthetic hand as he stands. Keith allows himself to be hauled upright, which does nothing to put any distance between them.</p>
<p class="western">“Hey, you wanna go get lunch tomorrow? Get off base for a little while?”</p>
<p class="western">Keith opens his mouth to reply, but instead of words, a short, soft, undeniably happy trill pulses from his vocal cords. Appalled at himself, he claps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide as he checks for Shiro’s reaction. It’s not a noise he’s ever made before in his entire life.</p>
<p class="western">But Shiro is still smiling, still close, open, friendly, just being Shiro. It is devastating enough. Happily, Shiro appears not to have noticed his vocal hiccup, Keith nods firmly.</p>
<p class="western">“Yeah. Sure. That would be nice.”</p>
<p class="western">Shiro breaks the hold he has on Keith’s hand, picking up the rebuilt engine fan like it weighs nothing, before casting his eyes over the hoverbikes with a smirk.</p>
<p class="western">“We’ll take the bikes and have a race?”</p>
<p class="western">“Sure.” Keith thinks of his hoverbike out in the smaller hanger where the personal vehicles are kept, and Shiro’s alongside it. He knows the alpha hasn’t touched his since the last time they had the opportunity to ride out together. He offers his friend a smug smile of his own to cover his remaining shock from making the trill. “But you’ll have to get up early and service yours before breakfast if you want any hope at winning!”</p>
<p class="western">*</p>
<p class="western">His alarm hauls Keith out of bed before day break, and by the time the sun begins to bleed over the desert horizon, he is stretched out on his mat, completing the last of his stretches before heading to the bathroom. Morning calisthenics aside, Keith does not like to switch on his brain before morning coffee, but unlike some he will not venture out into the common areas of the <span>staff quarters</span> in his sleep clothes to get some. He blinks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and goes about brushing his teeth with the usual motions.</p>
<p class="western">A moment later, a bristle comes loose in his mouth. He spits in the sink, and returns to brushing. Another bristle, and whilst he drags his tongue against his teeth through the foam of the paste, there is a third. Keith frowns, and pulls back to glare at his toothbrush.</p>
<p class="western">The damn thing looks like it’s been shredded by a tiny, angry cat, but it was new only a week ago. The packaging is still in the bin under the sink. He rinses out his mouth and spits again, rubbing his teeth with his tongue once more. The action brings a sharp stab of pain and the salt-tang of blood, and Keith watches his eyes go wide in the mirror as the line of his lips stains red. The ruined toothbrush clatters in the sink.</p>
<p class="western">Keith opens his mouth, hardly believing what he can see, can feel. He pulls his lips askew with two fingers staring.</p>
<p class="western">He has fangs. Fucking fangs. Why the fuck does he have fangs? But there they are, sharp incisors and two, point-tipped pre molars; three fangs on either side, both top and bottom.</p>
<p class="western">
  
</p>
<p class="western">Fangs like an alpha or an omega has. Fangs. But Keith isn’t an alpha or an omega. He’s a beta. He stares at himself in the mirror. He never presented either way during puberty, and joined some fifty percent of the population as a beta without a secondary gender, something for which he was always silently thankful. Being an unruly foster kid with an attitude problem had been quite enough to deal with; without having to cope with heats, ruts, scenting, and the whole host of other traits that came with having a secondary gender.</p>
<p class="western">But now he has fangs. And he trilled at Shiro. Not that the alpha seemed to either notice or care. And why would he? Keith is a beta, and a friend, and nothing more than that. Shiro is the hottest, most talented, most confident alpha Keith has ever met. He’s hardly going to look twice at a beta mechanic, no matter how easy their friendship over the past two years has been.</p>
<p class="western">Keith grits his teeth, his fangs fitting together and changing the natural set of his jaw slightly in a way that makes his chin look squarer, his face older and subtly more mature. He wonders if growing facial hair would have had a similar effect, but his requirements to shave each morning are as negligible now as they were when he was seventeen. He grimaces at his reflection, but the fangs aren’t particularly noticeable if he doesn’t stare and doesn’t curl back his lip. It’s not like he talks to anyone much anyway beyond a simple hello, and no one in the hanger will be looking when he gives out instructions – they’ll be too busy with their PADDs and parts.</p>
<p class="western">Keith huffs, blowing his bangs up away from his face for a moment, wondering if he can find a task to do which will involve wearing a face mask, and sets about getting ready for the rest of his day.</p>
<p class="western">At some point, he’s going to have to buy another, sturdier, toothbrush too. Damn.</p>
<p class="western">*</p>
<p class="western">Shiro pulls up alongside Keith’s glossy, candy apple red hoverbike and wastes no time in tearing the tinted googles from his face, pushing them up into his wind-whipped hair. Keith grins, not that Shiro can tell from behind the bandana he’s wearing around the lower half of his face. He’d already been waiting – dressed and ready – when Shiro arrived in the parking garage from his morning meetings, and so he hasn’t had to make excuses for his lack of welcoming smiles. Shiro slides from his hoverbike with a ready grin, just like always, pulling open the snaps of his jacket, warm now that the wind is no longer rushing by.</p>
<p class="western">The damn jacket… Keith loves that jacket, with it’s sheepskin lining and worn dark tan leather. It makes Shiro look like an early twentieth century film star; especially when he grins like the goddamn sun shine.</p>
<p class="western">“I’d say that was close, but you whipped my ass!”</p>
<p class="western">Keith glows with the praise even as he shrugs off the win.</p>
<p class="western">“It was like, ten seconds. You just messed up the fourth turn-”</p>
<p class="western">“-again,” Shiro interjects.</p>
<p class="western">“-so you were eating my dust the rest of the way.” Keith leans into his friend’s side as Shiro catches him in a one-armed hug. “Plus, I totally messed with my fuel mixture again. Just little bit more nitrous...”</p>
<p class="western">“Keith...” Shiro’s admonishment is half-hearted at best. “Just, don’t try the recipe that nearly blew us both up again, OK?”</p>
<p class="western">Keith pouts, and finally drags his bandana down to sit around his neck.</p>
<p class="western">“I did not nearly blow you up. You’re the one who just up and picked a random fuel can without checking the contents.”</p>
<p class="western">“It was next to your bike! I assumed it was safe!”</p>
<p class="western">Keith rolls his eyes hard at his friend, and enters the diner through the door shoulder first.</p>
<p class="western">“We all know what they same about assumptions Takashi...”</p>
<p class="western">“Fine, fine. I’ll buy your damn lunch.”</p>
<p class="western">Keith spends the minutes before the menu arrives, picking apart the knot in the bandana. He shoves the red fabric in his pocket as their server arrives with a warm, welcoming omega smile and a waft of sweet natural scent. Keith has no doubt they get great tips. Shiro orders for them both and laments not having enough time to keep his hoverbike in best condition. He then spends five minutes making heart eyes at the specs on Keith’s phone for a new engine coolant system he wants. He won’t buy it anytime soon, because it’s top of the line and incredibly expensive, but also because Keith can see flaws in the design and knows he can come up with something better, and different enough not to infringe copyright.</p>
<p class="western">Their food arrives, stacked burgers and a heaped platter of cheesy fries to share, and Keith groans as his stomach rumbles. What with the stress of accidentally destroying his toothbrush, and then spending the rest of the morning in a high-grade particle mask whilst air-blasting dirty engine parts in the sanding booth, his sum total calorific intake has been a single cup of coffee. He takes a bite of his burger and his new fangs catch the flesh of the inside of his cheek in a uniquely painful way.</p>
<p class="western">Only the fact he has his mouth full makes him avoid swearing loudly, though he clenches his eyes shut reflexively and smacks the table with his fist, drawing the attention of other diners momentarily.</p>
<p class="western">“Keith?”</p>
<p class="western">Keith waves a hand and shakes his head, signalling that he is fine, and Shiro makes a relieved noise as he sits up fully once more.</p>
<p class="western">“Honestly you’d think as a species we’d have evolved past biting ourselves accidentally by now.” Shiro’s own burger doesn’t make it as far as his mouth, because he’s staring at Keith with a concerned expression. “Keith? You’re bleeding.”</p>
<p class="western">Keith wants to sink into the table and groan. He nearly does. Whatever the fuck is going on with him has stopped him from being able to even eat like a normal person. He feels like an idiot for thinking he could get through an entire meal with Shiro without revealing the fact that he appears to have grown fangs overnight for absolutely no reason. But before he can open his mouth to complain or protest, Shiro is flagging down the server – who appears instantly as though summoned by magic – to request a glass of water and some paper towels for Keith.</p>
<p class="western">It’s so like Shiro to anticipate his needs and provide for him, but Keith knows it’s just because they’re friends. Shiro has a reputation as the golden boy of the Garrison, and Keith is painfully aware he’d fawn and fuss over any one of his friends just the same if it was anyone else in his place. Keith drinks the water to flush his mouth out, and dabs at the blood with one of the soft paper towels the omega brought over.</p>
<p class="western">“You sure you’re OK?”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes, Shiro.” Keith pops a cheesy fry in his mouth to prove it, but chews it with <span>the</span> teeth on the other side of his face. “I’m fine.”</p>
<p class="western">“Oh well. If you’d said it still hurt, I’d have bought you ice cream after...”</p>
<p class="western">Keith gapes at his friend, forgetting for a moment about the desire to hide his new fangs. But instead of expressing slightly indignant shock that Shiro thinks he can be bought with ice cream like he’s a small child – even though he totally can because Keith is sucker for ice cream and Shiro knows it – Keith trills.</p>
<p class="western">Again.</p>
<p class="western">Mortified, he stares as his plate, fingers clenching into a fist repeatedly at his side. He wishes somehow for the ability to turn back time, grab that noise and stuff it back so far down inside himself that it never sees the light of day again. Why the ever-loving fuck is he trilling at Shiro? And over the offer of ice cream, like that’s so unusual for them? Feeling like shit, Keith risks glancing up at his best friend, and finds that Shiro is blushing.</p>
<p class="western">It’s not an expression that Keith is used to seeing on the big alpha, and he stares. His eyes are soft, a gentle upturned corner of his lips, and a beautiful shade of pink blooming across his cheekbones and paling the skin of his scar. But then the omega server passes by the table, and the flick of their braid spreads a waft of scent which Keith catches like a wet towel to the face. Sweet, rich, thick like honey, all the markers of being interested and available for the right partner.</p>
<p class="western">Keith’s not surprised – Shiro looks like a god and smiles like a comic book superhero – and it’s hardly the first time someone has tried to flirt with his friend when they’ve been out together. But this is certainly the first time Shiro has ever worn anything other than an expression of polite disinterest when faced with someone’s advances, and Keith’s heart sinks.</p>
<p class="western">Shiro is blushing, the omega who walked past them glances back, looking attractively smug, and Keith feels like he swallowed a stone rather than a burger. His heart sits heavy in his chest, beating too fast and too slow all at once, and for a moment he wonders if he’s going to be sick.</p>
<p class="western">“Keith?”</p>
<p class="western">Under the table, Keith clenches his fist, trying to school his features into something close enough to resemble normality.</p>
<p class="western">“Are you OK?”</p>
<p class="western">“Yeah. Fine.” There’s no way Shiro’s not going to know he’s lying, but his best friend doesn’t call him out on it. “I’m just going to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”</p>
<p class="western">The beta restroom is thankfully empty, and Keith breathes deep and stares at himself in the long mirror. It shouldn’t matter to him if Shiro likes somebody. It’s not as though Shiro knows Keith has been nursing his more-than-a-crush for at least the past eighteen months. Even if he did, a shining star like Shiro would have no interest in him. Keith pokes his new fangs with the tip of his tongue, and wishes he had answers for the questions going round and round in his mind.</p>
<p class="western">By the time he returns to their table, the plates have been cleared away, Shiro is sitting on his side of the booth looking prim, proper, and just a fraction over-eager; and there is a syrup and chopped-nut drenched ice cream sundae in the centre of the table, with two long spoons and a single red cherry on top. He grins up at Keith as he slides into his seat, eyes bright, hand already halfway to the spoon.</p>
<p class="western">And Keith? He fucking trills.</p>
<p class="western">*</p>
<p class="western">It’s a long week.</p>
<p class="western">He does go to the nearest drug store to buy an extra-strength toothbrush and has to pay twice what he would have done at the Garrison commissary. But the idea of anyone on the base knowing his personal business, or speculating what type of company he is keeping in his quarters which would warrant a toothbrush for a guest, makes him want to punch things.</p>
<p class="western">He doesn’t quite trill at Shiro every time he sees him, but it feels like it. When his best friend’s big hand lands on his shoulder with a soft and familiar squeeze, Keith makes a happy little noise somewhere in between his throat and his chest without a second of hesitation. Shiro never says anything, but Keith doesn’t think there is any way that he hasn’t noticed.</p>
<p class="western">Mostly it happens when the two of them are alone, little quiet moments in Shiro’s teaching schedule when they have time to catch up in the hanger or the little office Keith gets as Head Flight Mechanic.</p>
<p class="western">Shiro praises his new coolant module sketches and he trills. Shiro places a hand on the ball of his shoulder in greeting or parting, and Keith trills. Shiro surprises him just before lunch break with a dish of mac and cheese – which is actually Shiro’s favourite – and Keith smiles with closed lips and grabs it and fucking trills.</p>
<p class="western">No one else has heard him make the embarrassing noise, and thankfully he’s been able to find lots of tasks to do which either involve being alone; or wearing a variety of personal protective face masks, so he hasn’t had to explain his new and obvious fangs to anyone yet either.</p>
<p class="western">But by the end of the week it is clear that neither the fangs nor the trill are going to be fading away anytime soon, and Keith can’t keep putting off dealing with them. He has few friends – and Shiro is the best one by far – and Keith does not want to bother anyone he actually knows with whatever weirdness is going on with him.</p>
<p class="western">So, Friday night he sits down with his laptop and a beer and makes a throwaway account before navigating to the board marked <em>r/relationships</em> to write his post.</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>Red2310: Help. I’m trilling at my best friend and I don’t know why. How do I stop making this stupid noise?</em>
</p>
<p class="western">He minimises the window, opens the three-dimensional drawing program in which his latest designs are slowly taking on a more concrete form. He promises himself not to look back at any possible responses until he has at least finished his beer.</p>
<p class="western">Designing and drawing is soothing, even when it’s technical and complicated, and Keith’s grateful this is something in which he can still loose himself. The patented, printed blueprints for the joystick bearings Shiro tested for him are pinned to the wall behind the desk in testament to this; despite Keith still having made no move to market the product design anywhere. Shiro has the only functional prototype in existence, and Keith likes to think that means something; even if Shiro would rather everyone in the Garrison and beyond could improve their response times with Keith’s invention.</p>
<p class="western">He drains the dregs from the brown glass bottle, tosses it overarm into the recycling box in the far corner of his quarters without looking. He inhales a deep breath before opening and refreshing the tab. He was expecting one or two replies, dreads that there will be nothing. But there is a long scroll of responses underneath his post, and Keith feels his stomach twisting as he scans through them.</p>
<p class="western">Most of the replies fall along similar lines to the first one: <em>‘KinkyMFE: Aww, poor baby omega. First crush?’</em> There are a surprising number of references to him being a <em>‘sweet summer child’</em>, and the overall tones are pitying with a dash of what he assumes is supposed to be well-meant simpering. A fair number of replies call for both more information and for him to just bare his throat to his crush and get on with it. The sentiment is so close to the one he expressed to Shiro on the day when he first trilled, that it makes him want to close the laptop and walk away completely.</p>
<p class="western">There are, of course, a scattering of creeps who think his post is cry for attention: <em>‘DakiDude: You can come trill over my knot anytime.’</em> Keith clicks on and follows through the reporting procedure for every single one, happy when they grey-out whilst waiting for a moderator to decide whether to delete them or not, and tries to pretend that he doesn’t care. After the fifth such response he shudders involuntarily, trying to banish the images they bring up from his inner vision. Sometimes having the ability to visualize really well is a curse.</p>
<p class="western">He refreshes the page, and scrolls up to make a follow up post under the main one.</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>Red2310: Thanks to everyone who asked for more info. I realise my first post wasn’t actually very helpful in that regard. I’m not an omega. I am a beta and I am twenty-one years old and male. I grew fangs overnight about a week ago (right after the first trill) and I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. Also, if you’re here to be a creep, piss off, then keep pissing off.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">Before he’s even had time to consider the advantages of staying up with another beer and his new project versus the lure of a good night’s sleep and a decent bed-time hour, the page dings with three new responses.</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>Flour_and_Motor_Oil: Damn dude. Good for you. Tell those jerks where to shove it!</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>GundersonGreen: I think you might find this useful. Good luck Red2310. </em>
  <em>
    <span class="u">www.aaas.org/articlexxxx</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="western">The last one is green flagged from a moderator.</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>pod_mice (Mod): This post and its replies have been moved to the r/biology board based on new information from original poster. Please create a second, more specific post, if relationship advice is also sought. Good luck with your investigation.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">Keith exhales a long breath out between his new fangs, and dreading what he might find, opens the link.</p>
<p class="western">It is, he is surprised to find, not dodgy porn of some variety, but an actual link to the <em>American Association for the Advancement of Science</em> and a page where the outlined findings of a genuine clinical study are published. He reads the title of the study.</p>
<p class="western">He closes the laptop. Opens it again. Rereads the title. Closes the laptop.</p>
<p class="western">A third time, just to check that he wasn’t seeing things.</p>
<p class="western">Convinced he hasn’t actually suffered a minor stroke; Keith collects a second room temperature beer from the grocery bag he hasn’t even unpacked yet. He pops the top off on the edge of the table, and necks a good third before letting himself focus on the webpage once again.</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>How Late is Too Late?: Research into the reasons behind late presenting secondary genders and their biological and psychological effects.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">Oh. Fuck.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Scent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Keith goads pretty much everyone he meets into a fight.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for everyone's reactions to this story so far. Your comments and tips bring us great joy. Stay tuned!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Keith hates being late.</p><p class="western">He’s never late; he’s the most punctual person he knows. Partly because he spent his childhood doing absolutely anything he could to avoid extra attention, his general status as an orphaned foster kid who’d been to four schools in three years <span>gave</span> him plenty of that anyway. And partly because if one wants the best spot in the Garrison gym, then one makes sure to get there promptly. He and Shiro by habit meet for their sparring matches whilst most people are in the mess hall for the first sitting of dinner, but Keith went back to his quarters to get changed, sat down and apparently… passed out for an hour. He does not remember the last time he napped, but now he feels groggy rather than rested, and still so very tired.</p><p class="western"><a id="__DdeLink__229_1445251451" name="__DdeLink__229_1445251451"></a> He slams through the double doors of the gym, pulling his hair back into a haphazard ponytail, and finds Shiro on the mat they usually commandeer for their sessions, holding a perfect feathered peacock pose, his legs in a frankly gorgeous arch above his head whilst he balances on his forearms. The inside of Keith’s mouth is suddenly as arid as the surrounding desert. He shouldn’t stare at his best friend doing yoga, he really shouldn’t; but Shiro is wearing three quarter length athletic leggings and a white t-shirt which both look like they were spray painted on him. The extreme curve of his pose has caused his shirt to creep up, and there’s a flash of softly tanned skin along with the bumps and dips of his abs. Keith clenches his jaw, reminding himself that Shiro is his friend and nothing more, and tries not to stalk over to the mat in too obvious a manner.</p><p class="western">“Hey, Keith.” Shiro rolls himself down out of his asana with well-practiced ease, and Keith can’t help but be a little bit proud, because he was the one who taught Shiro how to do it. Keith’s smaller and lighter, and inverted balancing comes naturally to him. “Everything OK?”</p><p class="western">“Yeah. Sure, it is. Sorry I’m late.”</p><p class="western">“You still want to spar?”</p><p class="western">Keith arches an eyebrow at his friend in lieu of an actual answer. Shiro rubs the back of his neck – and the muscles of his arm bulge sinfully with the movement – and smiles in a self-deprecating manner. Keith knocks his friend in the abs with his fist, lightly, just to cover up the effect the expression has on him and his own annoyance that it does.</p><p class="western">He forgoes all but the most basic of stretches, rolls his head over his shoulders, and takes up his stance just as Shiro finishes pacing over the other side of the mat. Keith inhales deeply, closing his eyes just for a moment before he breathes out once more, settling himself and the niggling anxieties which have hung over him recently. The first movements of the match are familiar and almost relaxing. It’s like they’re dancing, each anticipating the other, leading and giving way when required. Shiro makes the first strike, which is a habit of his secondary gender Keith knows his friend has trouble shaking off. Keith rolls with the motion so that instead of connecting painfully, the blow merely gives him momentum to spin, bring up one foot and smack Shiro soundly in the side of the jaw.</p><p class="western">The noise is sharp – flesh on flesh, at speed – in the general soft hubbub of the main gym, and Keith isn’t the only one who winces in sympathy. His foot hurts, but Shiro still hasn’t moved, staring at him dumbly. Keith frowns.</p><p class="western">“Shiro? Did you not see…?” Confused, Keith allows the sentence to trail into nothing as Shiro rubs his jaw. The alpha looks slightly dazed and unfocused, but he blinks a couple of times and appears to join Keith back in the land of the living. “How long were you warming up for? You didn’t spend ages doing headstands or something did you?”</p><p class="western">“No! No, I’m fine.” Shiro gives a little full body shudder, then backs off, returning to a ready pose. “Again?”</p><p class="western">“OK...” Keith answers slowly. He’s been using that foot spin as his opening move for five months and Shiro’s never once been hit by it. He shouldn’t have been hit by it today either; it’s just part of their starting dance.</p><p class="western">They begin again, and this time, things progress with a greater degree of normalcy. Keith finds himself rolling and ducking and twisting to keep out of Shiro’s long reach and powerful hands. Shiro is focused, eyes dark and narrowed, and the world beyond the sound of feet on the mat and his own heartbeat in his ears vanishes for Keith. Shiro might be his best friend, but in this moment, that doesn’t make him any less of an opponent. And sure, he’s bigger, stronger, more muscled, and an alpha, but Keith has beat him a few times, and each of those victories is intensely sweet with how hard they were to earn.</p><p class="western">When Shiro finally trips him, Keith braces for the follow through; feet planted on the floor and knees ready to flip Shiro’s weight, allowing him to scamper away once more. Keith pauses for breath in the act of jumping to his feet, and Shiro goes suddenly slack underneath him. Keith scrambles up quickly.</p><p class="western">“Shiro?”</p><p class="western">“Hmm? Sorry.”</p><p class="western">They move on, but now Keith is frowning, concerned for his friend. The back of his neck prickles and he realises they have garnered far more attention than usual. The garrison recruits far more than its share of alphas and omegas, and the gym is full of them. There are far more betas in the civilian departments, like Keith is, but of all of them live on base regardless. There are a lot of people either watching Shiro fight with Keith openly, or keeping tabs on them as they pretend to go about their own workouts. Keith grits his teeth, and strikes.</p><p class="western">Raw power isn’t his forte. He’s strong, very strong for his size and build, but going head to head with an alpha as stacked as Shiro is like trying to pummel a mountain. Or rather, it usually is. Shiro’s punch misses, which is good or he’d probably have broken Keith’s nose, and then Keith comes up inside his reach, knocks him flat, and is kneeling on Shiro’s biceps with the other man’s wrists in his hands, two heartbeats later. Shiro says nothing, but yields instantly underneath him, boneless and pliant. The victory tastes like ash.</p><p class="western">“Shiro? What the hell?”</p><p class="western">Keith sniffs, because he has to breathe, and he can practically taste the rising, red scent which emanates from his friend. The rest of Shiro’s scent, the part not occupied by thinking about sex, is putting out warm <span>cedarwood</span> tones, going welcoming and strong; protective, in that way alphas get over their mates. Keith jumps up like he’s been burned, and casts around the gym for the omega who is so clearly turning his best friend on.</p><p class="western">It’s not like he cares. Of course not. Shiro’s allowed to be attracted to other people. He should be. He deserves to be happy after all, but Keith can’t help the uncomfortable prickle which zaps up his spine as Shiro lays a hand on his shoulder.</p><p class="western">“Keith? Is everything alright?”</p><p class="western">“I’m fine.” He manages not to snap, but it’s a close thing. “Are we fighting or what?”</p><p class="western">“We can go again.”</p><p class="western">Keith knows he’s being a brat, but he can’t help it. Shiro’s slightly soft, sweet smile would usually be something he’d welcome, but right now it just shows that his friend can’t concentrate on him, and for some unfathomable reason isn’t brave enough to just go to the person he wants. Keith’s nose is good, especially for a beta, but he can’t work out who it is that’s got Shiro all riled up. Shiro doesn’t look at anyone as he paces across the circle in order to get ready.</p><p class="western">It goes as it should, mostly. Shiro blocks and jabs, but everything seems as though underwater. Shiro’s not focused, and the steely determination which Keith is so used to seeing in his best friend’s eyes is missing. Shiro isn’t wholly present in their fight, and Keith can feel himself getting hot and prickly about it.</p><p class="western">Shiro bats away his kick, and Keith turns his back on his opponent for a split second as he spins. He pulls his arm back as he goes, and completes the movement by throwing <span>a</span> punch. Shiro not only doesn't move out of the way in time, but doesn’t even get his shit together enough to pull up an arm to block. Keith's fist connects with his sternum hard enough that he feels his knuckle crack from the force. It hurts, worse than any other recent injury he’s acquired, but Keith bites back the pain and looks up at Shiro with an expression of tight rage.</p><p class="western">“What the fuck, Shiro?”</p><p class="western">Shiro stares at him blankly for a moment.</p><p class="western">“Sorry. Uh… I-”</p><p class="western">Keith huffs out a growl, all vestiges of his hard-practiced patience vanishing.</p><p class="western">“Either get your brain out of your shorts, or just go and find whatever omega it is that’s got you all fired up. Get your knot in already!”</p><p class="western">Shiro makes a pained noise.</p><p class="western">“Keith...”</p><p class="western">“Oh, don’t fucking pretend – that’s just pathetic. Jesus Shiro, if I wanted to just pummel someone until I broke my hand I’d have gone out and gotten into a bar fight.”</p><p class="western">Shiro gapes at him, eyes drifting to his hand.</p><p class="western">“You broke your ha-?”</p><p class="western">“Like it matters,” Keith snaps. He hasn’t unclenched his fist yet because he knows it’s going to hurt like a bitch.</p><p class="western">Shiro looks crestfallen, his entire expression becoming soft and concerned and caring in the best way which would usually make Keith feel too warm. But he’s too angry that Shiro can’t give their spar his full concentration and won’t do anything about it. He turns and stalks off.</p><p class="western">He knows he’s being stared at, that Shiro is watching him go, and that a combination of his outburst and Shiro’s unusually poor performance on the mats has drawn attention. But he can’t bring himself to actively care about the fallout. Shiro can take care of that, along with finding the object of his affections and getting over himself.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">Mission Township is big enough to get lost in, but close enough that Keith is able to walk out of the gym and hop onto the shuttle which travels back and forth from the base with barely a pause. He shoves his hands in his pockets and picks the first bar he sees. He will have missed dinner completely, but drinking on an empty stomach will require fewer actual drinks to achieve his goal. He takes a seat at the bar, accepts the drink the beta barman pours for him, and wishes it was as easy to drown his misery as television makes it seem.</p><p class="western">He has no right to be upset over Shiro finding someone attractive. Shiro isn’t his, to have, to hold, or anything else at all. Keith knows Shiro has been with people before, that he must have had partners during his ruts that Keith doesn’t know about. They don’t talk about that sort of thing, but Keith was paying enough attention in high school biology to know that spending a rut or heat alone can be borderline painful for those unlucky enough to experience them. Medical suppressants still mandate one scheduled heat or rut per year after all, and Keith has always been grateful for his uncomplicated status as a beta.</p><p class="western">But Shiro’s less than subtle hard-on for someone else doesn’t excuse his lack of focus during their spar. Keith sinks into the turned-up collar of his red and white jacket and allows himself to mope with his whiskey.</p><p class="western">When an alpha takes the seat next to him, Keith doesn’t think anything of it. The bar isn’t packed, but it’s far from deserted, and Keith shuffles an elbow over to make room as the wide shouldered alpha settles in place. Whilst it’s not true that all alphas take up far more than their fair share of space, this one certainly does; and Keith finds a knee, elbow, and shoulder edging far too close for polite comfort. Then the alpha turns to him with a broad self-important grin.</p><p class="western">“Hey, baby. What’s got you so sad?”</p><p class="western">Keith blinks at him. Everything about his body language is broadcasting that he doesn’t want to enter into any kind of conversation. But the random alpha doesn’t want to take the hint and keeps smiling. Keith wonders idly if it would be better if he wrote ‘piss off’ on his forehead in black marker every time he goes out. Then a large hand smooths between his shoulder blades over his jacket, clearly angling for the back of his neck and the scent glands an alpha or omega would have on either side, just by their hairline. Keith tenses.</p><p class="western">“Aww, don’t be like that pretty boy. I’ll be good to y-”</p><p class="western">Keith snaps. Before the alpha can finish the sentence, Keith has his knife out of his belt, spins it around in his hand in a flash, and presses the tip into the alpha’s midriff without breaking his skin. The position is low enough that if Keith flicked his wrist downward, the alpha’s manhood would be in danger and he knows it.</p><p class="western">Keith keeps his voice light and even when he speaks.</p><p class="western">“Is your nose broken?”</p><p class="western">“I- ugh-”</p><p class="western">“Would you like it to be?” Keith asks genially. “No? Fuck off.”</p><p class="western">The alpha slinks away as quick as he came, beating a hasty retreat across the bar and out the door as Keith glares at his whiskey like the mostly empty tumbler is responsible for his bad mood. The barman comes over from a customer at the far end of the bar with a concerned frown.</p><p class="western">“I’m so sorry about that.”</p><p class="western">Keith makes a non-committal noise.</p><p class="western">“Looks like you handled it pretty effectively though.”</p><p class="western">Keith arches an eyebrow. His knife wouldn’t have been visible to anyone else in the bar, which is exactly as it should be.</p><p class="western">“Er, thanks?”</p><p class="western">Despite wanting to be left alone, the beta ploughs on regardless.</p><p class="western">“I hate guys like that. Total knotheads. They just can’t accept that sometimes an omega wants to be left alone. It’s unacceptable really...”</p><p class="western">The barman keeps talking, but Keith interrupts him with a snap of his teeth he doesn’t mean to make.</p><p class="western">“What?”</p><p class="western">The beta gapes at him, flustered into silence. Keith resists the urge to form a fist, but only because his hand still hurts.</p><p class="western">“You think I’m an omega? Why the fuck do you think I’m an omega?” He snarls, and from the quick flick of the beta’s gaze, he realises his new fangs must be showing.</p><p class="western">The beta looks terrified, and from somewhere across the bar, Keith is sure he hears someone mutter about it being a trick question.</p><p class="western">“Ummm...”</p><p class="western">Keith can’t stick around and deal with this, just the same as he couldn’t deal with things in the gym with Shiro. He gets up, his stool falling over behind him with a too-loud clatter.</p><p class="western">“Oh, fuck this.”</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">Shiro has been by his quarters whilst he was out. The signs are obvious – both the scent and the Tupperware container on his doormat, which Keith already knows will contain his favourite jerky and quite possibly a small cake – that the big alpha had come to check on him and make amends. Keith scoops up the container as he lets himself in, and yes there is indeed a little passion fruit sponge cake tucked into the corner in a paper wrapper, and considers for two seconds phoning his friend. His hand throbs, his knuckles obviously bruised and swollen by now, and Keith abandons his gifted snacks in favour of rummaging around in the bathroom cabinet for arnica gel to spread over his damaged hand.</p><p class="western">Upon rousing his laptop, Keith finds that his throwaway account has a notification symbol for a new private message, waiting for him to accept.</p><p class="western">
  <em>GundersonGreen: Hey Red. Feel free to ignore this (obviously) if I missed the mark with my article recommendation, but I don't think I did. I work at a clinic which specialises in secondary gender issues, and I’d be totally happy to chat with you if you'd like. There's only so much I can do without my lab, but your message didn't read like you'd been having a great time with all the things going on with your body. If you message me back, I can send you all my credentials and you can look me up before you decide if you want to trust me or not.</em>
</p><p class="western">Keith frowns, finger hovering over the ‘delete’ icon, but then he notices there is a second message from the same user.</p><p class="western">Second message</p><p class="western">
  <em>GundersonGreen: Heads up, if your scent hasn't started changing yet, it'll probably happen tomorrow. If you can't call in sick where you work, make sure to wear lots of layers (I hope it's not summer where you are) and maybe extra deodorant to cover it up.</em>
</p><p class="western">Keith sneaks a glance out his window at the tiny slice of desert night sky outside, littered with stars. He’d fought hard to get this apartment with its prestigious view. Most of the other mechanics weren’t so lucky, and it’s a damn sight better than any of the Cadets in the dorms get. It’s always hot here, except at night when it’s cold enough to freeze the tits off a statue, and it’s not like he has a vast wardrobe selection anyway. His jacket with the collar up is just going to have to do.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Red2310: Hey. Thanks for the messages. I’m shit at talking to people but… send links?</em>
</p><p class="western">God, he can’t even pretend to be a decent human being online.</p><p class="western">His breath smells of whiskey, and his skin is itchy from the long-dried sweat of sparring. The back of his neck crawls with the lingering ghost <span>sensaton</span> of the jerk in the bar who thought it was a good idea to actually touch him. Keith abandons his laptop, and strips efficiently on his way to the compact bathroom, only taking care to lay his knife on the nightstand before shedding the rest of his clothes.</p><p class="western">The shower is scalding, just the way he likes it, and Keith scrubs at his hair and skin one handed whilst the knuckles of his other hand throb dully in time with his pulse. Shiro tried to apologise, even though Keith wasn’t here, and he knows he needs to just pick up the phone and <span>talk</span>. In truth, he doesn’t even need to do that, because tomorrow will come and Keith can just go and meet his friend like they normally do, never mentioning the situation in the gym, and things will go on as if it never happened. Shiro is the best kind of friend, he always knows exactly when to push Keith, and when to step back and let him be. He might have been distracted during sparring, but he doesn’t deserve Keith’s lingering resentment.</p><p class="western">Keith adjusts the water temperature, and brushes his knuckles low over his abdomen. Already thinking about Shiro has caused him to think about Shiro in his leggings and skin tight shirt, holding that complex asana with all his muscles on show. Being vaguely annoyed with Shiro does nothing to put a damper on the fact that he’s been the central focus of Keith’s sexual fantasies for well over a year. These days, Keith doesn’t even try and pretend it’s not Shiro he thinks of when he jerks off.</p><p class="western">He sighs, leans back against the steam warmed tile and closes his eyes as he allows his palm to slide down to his stirring cock.</p><p class="western">Shiro. Shiro in those stupid tight leggings with his spine curved and the bulge of his crotch so obvious and so… endowed. Keith wonders how long the alpha could have kept the pose up if Keith had simply walked over to him, fallen to his knees and started nuzzling into the thin fabric between his legs.</p><p class="western">He lets the fantasy play out. Keith parts his lips to mouth at the firm shape of Shiro’s cock through the spandex barrier, turning the shiny fabric dark with his tongue, purring happily as Shiro twitches and pulses underneath him, spreading a tangy wet patch of his own at the tip of his cock. Keith presses more firmly into the fabric, inhaling the whole of Shiro’s perfect, musky scent. Right here it’s darker, still clean and crisp, but with woodsy notes that make him think of deep forests in winter. He wants to lose himself in it.</p><p class="western">Keith drags his fingers through his hair. He wants them to be Shiro’s fingers. He strokes himself as he shifts the fantasy around, putting Shiro on his couch – no, his bed – half reclining against the pillows and looking every inch a muscled god. Keith settles on the floor between his thighs, scooting in nice and close as he strokes himself. Shiro looks at him approvingly, as though he enjoys Keith being so hot that he can’t help but touch himself when they’re together. He swipes over the exposed tip of himself as his foreskin rolls back, moaning into the shower at the sudden jolt of sensitivity and pleasure.</p><p class="western">In his mind, Shiro has his hand in Keith’s hair, such long, broad fingers and a heavy palm able to cradle what feels like his whole skull, beaming with pride and bringing him forward; closer, until Keith is panting and lapping messily at Shiro’s massive dick. Shiro doesn’t care that he’s out of practice and messy, but rumbles in his chest as Keith opens his jaw as best he can. Shiro is heavy and hard in his mouth, filling all his senses, and Keith breathes deep whilst <span>that’s still possible</span>, <span>inhaling </span>Shiro’s scent before he swallows. Shiro’s hand moves in his hair, petting and stroking, guiding and reassuring all at once. Keith moans with his mouth full and strokes himself faster.</p><p class="western">The hand gripping Shiro’s beefy thigh comes loose, pried away as Shiro laces their fingers together. He tugs on Keith’s hand, keeping his head exactly where it is, and Keith lets out another muffled groan as he feels Shiro’s soft lips, then the points of his fangs, graze across the sensitive skin.</p><p class="western">He whimpers, setting his teeth against his own fist, keening into the falling water as he comes. Nothing holds him up now, and Keith slides to the shower floor in a heap, watching blurrily as the evidence of his orgasm is washed away, shivering with oversensitivity even though he’s warm. He stares at his wrist, not a place he’s ever thought of as being sexy before; despite the fact that the media loves to portray couples kissing and holding each other’s wrists. He feels exhausted, like he somehow managed to lose all his energy along with his dignity.</p><p class="western">By the time he’s scraped himself up off the bathroom floor and thrown an old baggy hoodie on over his faintly steaming skin, there’s another message waiting on his laptop. Keith rubs with his good hand at the back of his neck, wondering when and how he’s managed to scratch himself. The skin there itches and feels hotly inflamed.</p><p class="western">
  <em>GundersonGreen: So, here’s some of the r/biology posts where I’ve advised people in the past, just so know I’m not a weird troll, </em>
  <a href="http://www.readme.com/biology/topicxxx">
    <em>
      <span class="u">www.readme.com/biology/topicxxx</span>
    </em>
  </a>
  <span>
    <span>. Here’s</span>
  </span>
  <em> my professional listing </em>
  <em>
    <span class="u">www.procarrd.com/kholt</span>
  </em>
  <em>, and this is the clinic where I work </em>
  <em>
    <span class="u">www.GCRC–Atlas.org</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="western">Keith clicks on the professional listing, and chews on his lower lip until he hurts himself with his too sharp fangs.</p><p class="western">Katie Holt, with lots of letters after her name. Some of them Keith’s never even heard of. There’s fancy graduation information, and he recognises the name. She’s one of the people listed as contributor in the study article he was sent. She’s younger than him, and clearly some kind of child genius if she already has a PhD and a Doctorate, and god knows what other qualifications by the tender age of nineteen. She works at… and it is the same clinic the other link takes him to. He searches it up in a separate browser window, just to be sure he’s not the target of an incredibly elaborate scam, then reads.</p><p class="western"><em>Atlas Gender Clinic and Research Centre</em>. It’s a very slick and well-designed webpage, classy and high-tech in a way Keith can’t accurately describe. The page with contact information pinpoints the location on the map as the nearest big city to the Garrison base, in the opposite direction to Mission Township. Keith stares, hardly believing his eyes. Help is, potentially, only just over an hour’s drive away.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">Keith groans and rolls over. His alarm hasn’t even gone off yet, it’s way too early to be awake. He snuffles, burying himself into the scent of his alpha. It’s the next best thing to the other man’s presence, and more than half asleep, Keith can’t work out why Shiro isn’t in bed with him. He must have been busy with work. Keith buries his nose in the collar of his alpha’s hoodie – borrowed at some point, never returned, but still strongly scented – and breathes him in.</p><p class="western">He feels hot and prickly all over, but not enough to want to remove the only item of clothing he’s wearing. Instead, Keith kicks at the tangle of sheets and presses himself into the mattress. He whimpers, because the scent of Shiro only makes his alpha’s absence more pronounced. Keith mouths ineffectively at his own wrist, as he gathers the discarded blankets and stuffs them between his thighs. He wants Shiro. He wants the strong arms of his alpha and the weight of the bigger man pressing against his back. He grinds into the ruched-up sheets, wishing it was one if Shiro’s thick thighs instead. He takes another deep breath of his alpha’s scent and groans aloud.</p><p class="western">He wants. He wants so badly, and he’s so hot that resisting seems like an impossibility. The fabric is body-warm and smooth against his cock as he thrusts his hips, seeking friction even as he turns his head to get more of the fabric of Shiro’s hoodie pressed up into his face. His wrist throbs in time with pulse of his cock, and Keith wonders why his alpha hasn’t marked him yet. What has he done wrong? Keith keens into the bedsheets, eyes screwed shut as he imagines Shiro covering him instead. Shiro underneath him as he ruts helpless into the blankets, Shiro rumbling happily into his ear and nosing down his jaw to the heated, sensitive skin of his neck. Keith whines, thrusting his hips down into his sheets, groaning at the pleasure which sparks along his spine.</p><p class="western">He doesn’t want to come like this. He wants to wait, to be good for Shiro, but he’s so hot and Shiro isn’t here, and it’s been such a long time since anyone touched him. Keith worries at his lower lip as he pushes himself over and over again into the fabric of his bed, knowing he’s making a mess, knowing his cock is leaking against the sheets and getting pre on Shiro’s hoodie. He’ll have to wash it to give it back, not that he wants to give it back at all. If he can’t live in Shiro’s arms then he wants to live in his clothes instead. The skin of his neck burns, his hair is sweaty, his ears flood with his racing heartbeat whilst his nose fills with Shiro’s perfect and comforting scent. He scrapes his teeth across his wrist again, then bites his pillow, screwing his eyes shut as the damp fabric of the sheets drags again over his weeping cock. Keith comes with a muffled scream, every nerve ending on fire as he spills himself onto the bed.</p><p class="western">For a while, he pants wetly into the collar of Shiro’s hoodie – still up around his face – and then his alarm bleeps at him from his phone, and he groans.</p><p class="western">Full wakefulness and the cooling of his skin brings him suddenly to the reality of his position: mostly nude with his ass in the air, sheets and skin tacky with cum, wearing Shiro’s hoody. Keith whines and yanks the hood down over his eyes, though he’s not sure who he’s trying to hide from, as everything he visualised whilst semi-conscious comes back to him. He slithers off the soiled bed and slinks to his bathroom for his second shower in eight hours.</p><p class="western">Naked and steaming faintly, he strips the bed and bundles the sheets along with Shiro’s hoodie into his laundry hamper. Now he’s going to have to do extra washing and deal with the fact that he came – like that – whilst thinking about his best friend. There’s a difference between jerking off thinking about Shiro in the gym and jerking off to… whatever the fuck that was. Keith snarls at himself.</p><p class="western">He’s never given more than a vague passing thought to his secondary gender or lack thereof, and he’s certainly not one of those people who wishes he had presented differently. He doesn’t want an alpha’s knot, doesn’t hunt for interesting sex toys or pseudo-slick out of a bottle. Never dreamt of starting a family, and he’s certainly never come from fantasizing about wearing <em>his alpha’s </em>claiming bites on his skin before.</p><p class="western">Shiro’s not his. Keith feels his fingernails bite into his palm as he spends a silent moment reminding himself of this fact. Shiro is not his alpha. Keith doesn’t need an alpha, and no alpha would be interested in him, just some random beta, anyway.</p><p class="western">Keith knows that there are those who frequent specific bars looking for sexual hook ups with particular sorts of people, and there’s a weird niche of alphas who like to fuck betas for no other reason than they’re not omegas. But Keith’s never been to one. It might be while since he’s had sex – more or less the entire span of his friendship with Shiro if he’s honest with himself – but he certainly didn’t wish the other guy at the time had a fucking knot either.</p><p class="western">Keith dresses on auto pilot and gives his laundry a last, damning look before heading out towards the hangar, his tiny office, and the schedule he is about to rearrange to give himself a free afternoon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Clinical</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which we meet tiny Alpha!Pidge, and Keith breaks his phone in shock.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am adoring your continued comments and support. thank you all so much for being so nice about my first adventure in omegaverse.</p><p>(also yes, the pining gets worse)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">He shows up at the clinic without an appointment, and Keith is both shocked and quietly suspicious that the very pretty omega seated elegantly behind the reception desk doesn’t seem to mind his sudden and comparatively dishevelled appearance.</p><p class="western">“Katie Holt,” he asks shortly, ears still ringing slightly from the whipping effect of the wind and the noise of the highway. “Does she work here?”</p><p class="western">“Yes. Are you scheduled to see her, Mister…?”</p><p class="western">Keith licks at his new fangs behind closed lips, and wonders what the heck he’s doing here. Many times, during the hour-long ride from the Garrison, Keith had both broken the speed limit, and changed his mind without changing direction. In his head he knows that being here is a waste of time; because fangs, weird dreams, itchy skin and fucking trilling at Shiro aside, nothing is wrong with him. He’s a perfectly healthy twenty-one year old beta and a successful flight mechanic; he does not need to be here. But the same sensation that makes him turn around because someone behind him speaks, an awareness of his surroundings he never remembers having before, tells him that he knows exactly why he’s here. Keith scowls.</p><p class="western">“Red?”</p><p class="western">The alpha is <em>tiny</em>, almost comically so, but Keith recognises her in a roundabout way from the professional photograph listed on the Atlas website. Doctor Katie Holt with too many letters after her name, has a wild cloud of pale brown hair, circular wire frames glasses, a white coat with the sleeves rolled up over an outfit of shorts and a green stripped t-shirt. She barely reaches his sternum. Keith takes a breath, nostrils flaring from the sudden wash of her scent – soft and comforting in a totally different way than Shiro often smells – something which makes him think of dark pine forests under cold skies. It’s a little bit wild, and Keith knows suddenly that this is both an alpha who can be trusted – and absurdly – an alpha who will protect him. He wants to spit out the thought, because Keith’s never needed anyone to protect him before, and he doesn’t want anyone to now either. Despite all that, her intuition of who he is makes his skin prickle, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. <em>Red2310</em> could have been anyone, anywhere across the globe; she shouldn’t have had any reason to suspect he would be within easy driving distance.</p><p class="western">“What makes you think that?”</p><p class="western">She arches an eyebrow at him, pushes her glasses back up her nose with one finger.</p><p class="western">“Well, first I heard the bike, then I looked out the window and <em>saw</em> the bike.” Keith glances through the tinted glass frontage of the building to where his hoverbike glints in the bright desert sunlight. Shiny as a mirror and red as fresh cherries. “And then – no offence – I smelt you.”</p><p class="western">Keith’s hand forms a fist before he’s even aware of it. It takes him several, long, deliberate breaths to remind himself than this isn’t a bar or a back alley, and that he is not looking for a fight. To her credit, Katie Holt simply waits and gives him the time to pull himself back together, watching him without staring.</p><p class="western">“Keith,” he manages eventually. “I’m Keith.”</p><p class="western">“Nice to meet you Keith. I’m Katie, but everyone I like calls me Pidge.” She makes an open gesture at the half-screened seating on the other side of the lobby. There is privacy, but a very open escape route. It is the kind of place where an omega would feel comfortable sitting with an alpha they didn’t know. Keith scowls, no one, apart from Shiro, has ever given a moments consideration to his comfort before, and he doesn’t need them to start now. Pidge seems to take all this in with the smallest of knowing smiles. “Would you prefer to come to my office?” she offers.</p><p class="western">Pidge’s office is less a sleekly furnished space, as would be fitting her status as a Doctor at such a clearly luxurious clinic, and more of a laboratory. Keith privately <span>thinks</span> it <span>looks</span> like his spare parts storage room threw up in it. There are schematics laid out on the same blue-tinted layout paper Keith uses, and a variety of half formed machines sitting on the long steel work-surface in-between medical instruments he vaguely recognises from television medical dramas. Pidge settles herself into a large black leather desk chair, sitting crossed legged with her spine hunched over in a manner which looks painful, and she motions for Keith to sit wherever he likes. He picks the bent-wood chair which he thinks is probably quite stylish, and scans the desk between them.</p><p class="western">The desk is arranged with a large collection of toys and objects, all of which are clearly designed for fiddling with. Pidge selects the one closest to her, obviously a favourite, and begins to roll the squishy looking cube between her fingers as she leans back into her chair.</p><p class="western">“Sometimes it’s good to have something to do with your hands, especially if your hobby isn’t portable.”</p><p class="western">It’s not phrased as an offer, but it’s also not a warning to stay away from the selection either. It’s exactly the kind of open-ended phrase Keith is sure he’s seen article headlines and forums talk about, before moving on to something which actually concerned him. His skin prickles, because as his eyes roam over Pidge’s desk again, his brain delivers him the message that she is a <em>good alpha</em>. He fights the urge to grit his teeth, partly because the last time he did his fangs drew blood and the inside of his cheek still smarts from the injury. The implications of alpha and omega behaviours have never affected him before, not like this.</p><p class="western">He gets his breathing under control again and selects a cylindrical object like a pen. One end has ball-bearing which rolls smoothly in his palm, and there is an incredibly satisfying clicker mechanism on the other.</p><p class="western">“So, do you want to start?”</p><p class="western">Oh yeah, talking. Keith takes a deep breath and wishes he was better at pretending to be human in front of anyone except Shiro. This time he feels the tickle of the noise in his throat and swallows it down before the trill can emerge. Fuck.</p><p class="western">“I mean, you read my post.” He presses the clicker to the centre of his forehead for a moment. “What did you mean about my scent?”</p><p class="western">“How much of high school biology did you pay attention to?”</p><p class="western">“Enough to pass.” Keith doesn’t mention that he’s always had a really good nose for a beta. Or that he also spent the majority of his high school years being shunted through the foster system to new families, neighbourhoods, and schools regularly.</p><p class="western">“Right. So, you know that scents tell us lots of things? Whether someone is angry, happy, scared, hungry, or even in pain. Obviously, we can all tell secondary genders by scent, even betas; but there are a lot of gender specific things scent can exhibit. Scenting something and knowing what it means are two different things. Unless a person is either very close to a heat or rut, or intimate with someone, then the knowledge doesn’t just drop into your head like an open book. It’s not like it is in fiction.”</p><p class="western">Keith feels the skin over the back of his neck prickle, suddenly hot. He resists the urge to scratch, and takes it out on the clicker in his hand instead. His brain snags on the phrase <em>very close to a heat</em>, and he shoves it forcefully aside.</p><p class="western">“So, I smell weird?”</p><p class="western">“You smell… complicated.” Pidge sees the expression on his face and flushes in apology. Her scent changes too, suddenly buttery and warm and Keith <em>knows</em> she’s actually sorry, that she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. The knowledge sits like a hard lump in his chest: he doesn’t want this new ability to suddenly understand things. “I’ve met a lot of people going through late presentation, far more than my fair share, and I’ve always been very scent sensitive.” She gestures to the wall of framed commendations and diplomas. “It’s what kind of got me into all of this in the first place. So yeah, to me your scent is complicated. To another alpha, you probably scent like an omega should, maybe a little bit hot and fractious- whoa… breathe Keith.”</p><p class="western">Keith resists the urge to dig his fingernails into his temples. He’s not an omega, he’s not.</p><p class="western">“In essence, you smell a bit like someone going through puberty, only it’s combined with your natural mature scent. It’s very enticing.” There is a long moment of silence where Keith tries to count his heartbeats to calm himself down, but the more he counts and faster it gets. “I take it people have started noticing?”</p><p class="western">He thinks back to Shiro’s distraction during their spar, the way his friend had smelled hungry and eager, and he wants to die. Shiro hadn’t been scenting some random omega-in-heat that he wanted; Shiro had been smelling him. <em>Him</em>. And Keith had shouted at him and stormed off. And he still hasn’t called to apologize. He’s a fucking idiot.</p><p class="western">“Yes.”</p><p class="western">Pidge crosses her office and opens a small fridge. Keith takes the bottle of water she offers wordlessly.</p><p class="western">“Your post on the board mentioned fangs. Did they really grow in overnight?”</p><p class="western">“I mauled my toothbrush.”</p><p class="western">“I’m surprised you weren’t awake because of the pain the whole time, to be honest with you. Can I see them? I won’t touch you.”</p><p class="western">She smells friendly and professional and trustworthy, and Keith is sick of being treated like he is someone who can be easily offended. He’s a beta, he gets handshakes and claps on the back or shoulder and people sometimes smile at him because not every gesture needs to be overthought with betas. He doesn’t hold back his venom when he replies.</p><p class="western">“I don’t care if you touch me.”</p><p class="western">She raises an eyebrow, and Keith opts to remain sitting as Pidge goes to the sink, disinfects herself and dons a pair of latex gloves. It seems like overkill.</p><p class="western">“Since you rode all the way here, do you want me to run the standard tests? That way you can have your diagnoses all official.” <em>And get re-registered</em> are the words that she doesn’t say and doesn’t have to.</p><p class="western">Keith knows. He knows that if he tests as an omega, he’ll have to change his designation on his driving licence; his fucking pilots license too, and he’s only just got it; his housing forms with the Garrison; not to mention his work contracts. But if he doesn’t… then he won’t be able to get suppressants or treatment if he needs it. And if Pidge is right and he really does smell like an omega, <span>if he</span> says anything else people will just assume he’s lying. He nods dully, and opens wide.</p><p class="western">Pidge makes a variety of impressed noises as she moves his lips aside with firm but not invasive touches in order to inspect his fangs. She prods at the points, wiggling her fingertip to test the firmness of each tooth’s socket before leaning back.</p><p class="western">Keith remembers the rest of the standard testing battery from both his mandatory presentation – or lack thereof – testing and his basic physical upon his intake at the Garrison. Pidge is concise with her movements, delicate and sure with her hands and instruments, and tells him everything she’s going to do before she does it. It’s reassuring in a way Keith’s never actually realised he likes before. So, she takes his blood – four vials with different coloured stoppers, two of which go directly into a centrifuge – peers into his eyes with a pen light and checks his cranial nerve. When she collects a tray with several sample containers and a skin scraping tool, he flinches.</p><p class="western">“But I don’t have scent glands.”</p><p class="western">For a long moment, a single perfectly arched eyebrow is her only response, and then Pidge jabs him in the back of the neck with two very pointy fingers.</p><p class="western">“So, this doesn’t hurt, does it?”</p><p class="western">“Hnnngh!” It is probably the most undignified noise he has ever made in public, or at least, in front of a person he barely knows. It hurts, his neck has been sensitive all day, and his skin throbs. He’s smart enough to know by now that it isn’t because he rubbed it raw in the shower. But the tiny alpha’s prod also sent a totally involuntary twitch directly to his cock, a weird jolt of pleasure that he doesn’t understand and doesn’t want. He flips himself over the arm of the chair and gets out of range.</p><p class="western">“Sorry. That’s was rude and inappropriate.” Pidge sighs and turns her head, showing her neck in a gesture of trust that Keith definitely hasn’t earned. “I would be most honoured if you would allow me to complete the tests, Keith.”</p><p class="western">He clamps his jaw shut on his reply – because he’s not some omega to be tiptoed around – and bites his own tongue. Rather than demonstrate his total lack of understanding of how his own fucking mouth works now, he simply nods, and dumps himself into the nearest chair with his head hanging forward.</p><p class="western">Pidge takes not-totally-painless scrapings from the space on his neck behind each ear, exactly where omegas and alphas have their scent glands, and another pair of scrapings from his wrists. As she packs up, Keith is viscerally reminded of sitting in high school biology, staring at the anatomy chart, and feeling pleased as fuck he never had to worry about scent glands in his crotch or special underwear. He wraps a hand over the back of his head now and glares, unseeing, at his lap. Fuck.</p><p class="western">“There’s one other test, but it can wait for another time.” Pidge busies herself at the workbench-slash-laboratory, taking all his samples and setting a variety of rests to run. Inputting a bunch of stuff onto a PADD and waiting as a machine prints labels out. “You want to tell me about yourself, Keith?”</p><p class="western">Keith shrugs.</p><p class="western">“I’m not that interesting.”</p><p class="western">To his surprise, Pidge doesn’t press him further.</p><p class="western">“Then you wanna tell me about this alpha friend of yours you’ve been trilling for? After all, I don’t know them – there’s no judgement here. You can gush as much as you like.” Pidge finishes whatever she was doing and sprawls over a love seat half occupied by what looks like an aerial drone in pieces. “Tests will take about an hour more to run.”</p><p class="western">Keith doesn’t really know if he wants to talk about Shiro with someone else, not like this. The last interaction they had was a fight, and then Keith jerked off into his own sheets whilst trying to inhale his friend’s hoodie. He pulls out his phone, just for something to do, having discarded the clicker toy at some point during testing, and finds a text from Shiro waiting for him.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Hey. I miss you. We still on for stargazing later? Should be a pass of comet-t2 if we stay up late enough.</em>
</p><p class="western">Keith lets his phone thump into his chest as he leans back, mouth <span>tugging</span> up into a smile. Shiro’s not mad at him, and with the weirdness going on Keith had totally forgotten about stargazing. The two of them haven’t missed a single northern-hemisphere comet pass the entire time they’ve been friends.</p><p class="western">“That’s nice.” Pidge’s comment makes Keith realise he’s spoken at least some of that aloud, and he flushes furiously. “You guys sci-fi nerds, to go with the astronomy habit?”</p><p class="western">“A bit, I suppose. I have watched way more Star Trek since we became friends, that’s for sure.”</p><p class="western">“You like him.” It’s not a question.</p><p class="western">“We’re friends,” Keith responds, refusing to look up, even though he can feel Pidge looking at him.</p><p class="western">“Jeez, Keith… you know how often alphas get trilled at? Never.” That makes him look up. “Life isn’t like cheesy romance novels; omegas don’t just fall over at the feet of any alpha who crosses their path. I mean, you watch porn, right?”</p><p class="western">“Err….” This is quickly becoming the most uncomfortable conversation Keith’s ever had, and he kind of misses the times when Pidge was being professional instead.</p><p class="western"><a id="__DdeLink__228_1453752278" name="__DdeLink__228_1453752278"></a> “Ever hear anyone trill in porn? No. You can’t just trill for anyone. No omega who isn’t safe and happy and loved can trill.”</p><p class="western">“Oh. Fuck.”</p><p class="western">A machine beeps from the workbench, and Pidge gets up to go and start collecting finished test data.</p><p class="western">“Congratulations Keith, you are officially the oldest, late presenting omega that I personally have ever tested.”</p><p class="western">Keith wants to cry. He wants to reverse time, delete his throwaway <em>Red2310</em> account and the <em><span class="u">readme.com</span></em> forum posts he’s made, go find the moment where he first trilled at Shiro and punch himself in the face instead. He does not want any of this to be happening. But they are, it is, and Keith is brought back to himself by the texture of his phone screen splintering in his hand. He drops it, amazed he has avoided slicing his fingers open.</p><p class="western">“Can I stop this? Can you?”</p><p class="western">Pidge huffs her hair away from her face, and looks at him sternly.</p><p class="western">“I mean, you could file your teeth- no I don’t think you should Keith!” She looks aghast at his serious expression. Honestly filing his fangs down doesn’t sound any more painful than the fact he keeps cutting himself with them. “And take suppressants. But you’ll still have to have a heat every year anyway.”</p><p class="western">“Oh.”</p><p class="western">“That’s something else we need to talk about. How much of that article I sent did you read?”</p><p class="western">Keith didn’t finish it, because everything he read just made him more anxious. He shakes his head.</p><p class="western">“Right… OK. So, obviously we’d need a test to confirm, but all late presenting female-alphas and male-omegas ever tested have been sterile. Your body has spent too long producing just one hormone in quantity for your base biology to overcome it now.” She pauses, then ploughs on. “But because you’re an omega, you also won’t be able to get someone else pregnant, I’m assuming you’ve never tried?”</p><p class="western">“No.” Keith doesn’t feel the need to tell her that he’s only had sex a handful of times and found it to be generally, far less awesome than everyone else always maintains it should be. Maybe he’s rubbish at it.</p><p class="western">“And… you’re going to have a heat. Soon.”</p><p class="western">Keith doesn’t need to ask how she knows, because the answer is written all over her face. His scent. He smells like pre-heat. Fuck.</p><p class="western">“If I’m already sterile, then why do I need to have a heat? Can’t you just start me on suppressants now?”</p><p class="western">He could take suppressants and file his fucking fangs and Shiro will never have to know. He doesn't want Shiro to know, to start treating him differently because he’s an omega. He’s never seen Shiro spar with an omega, not properly anyway, never in the kind of grapple holds which are so familiar with them. He doesn’t want to deal with the moment which will inevitably come, when Shiro chooses another omega instead of him. Because why the fuck would someone as healthy and virile and perfect as Shiro choose to be with a broken, late-presenting omega who isn’t even able to do the one thing omegas are supposedly good at, and reproduce? The idea of having kids, of <em>being</em> pregnant, makes Keith want to throw up, and the fact he doesn’t have to start taking contraception is kind of a relief but still… He walked into this office a fundamentally different person than he is now, because now everything he knows about how the world treats him is going to change.</p><p class="western">“Oh Keith...” Pidge’s voice is soft, and her scent has gone all warm and gentle, like the best sort of savoury cooking smells. She is the aromatic equivalent of chicken soup. “I know it’s a lot to deal with. I know I’m probably not the best person to talk to. You could speak to my brother, he’s an omega too and-”</p><p class="western">“No.” Keith pulls himself together, the same way he had when people picked on him for being the weird foster kid who never fitted in anywhere: by force. “No. The fewer people who know about this the better.” He means the fact that he is nearly crying in a doctor’s office, but if he can get away with only sharing his new designation on official documents so much the better. The phrase <em>‘I'm an omega’</em> need never pass his lips. “Start me on suppressants.”</p><p class="western">Pidge actually winces.</p><p class="western">“I can’t.”</p><p class="western">“Why not?” Keith growls. This is why he has no friends, no one other than Shiro anyway, because he’s incapable of being a level headed human being for more than a few hours.</p><p class="western">“Tailored suppressants take a week to synthesize.” She gestures to the centrifuge which still whirls almost silently behind her. “And you can’t start suppressants once you’re in pre-heat; and you can’t suppress a first heat. It’s too dangerous.”</p><p class="western">“But I’m sterile! So ‘dangerous’ doesn’t <em>fucking</em> matter.”</p><p class="western">Keith is not expecting his outburst to be met with a stern expression and a wall of cold scent which <em>nearly</em> makes him physically shiver.</p><p class="western">“Suppressants aren’t a long-term solution for anyone Keith. And I’m not going to help you fuck up your base biology in order to run away from dealing with this. And neither would anyone else with a medical degree. Going on suppressants – even tailored ones – for too long and not breaking to have regular heats will screw you up <em>way</em> worse than unexpected late presentation.”</p><p class="western">Keith sits back down under the force of her sudden temper.</p><p class="western">“Not having proper heats will make you immune to suppressants. The body goes haywire if your base biology is ignored for too long. You wanna have a stroke? A heat that last six weeks with no relief? To have your heats come up with no warming? Or have unpredictable, single day heats every other week?” Pidge takes a deep breath and returns to her big leather desk chair. “Same applies for alphas too, and people think ‘how bad can it be you just want to knot every time you have sex’; but that’s not all that happens. Protective instincts which go into overdrive are dangerous. Out of control alphas horde things, sometimes people… the lucky ones get rehab, the less lucky get committed.”</p><p class="western">“Oh.” Keith is sorry, but he resists the urge to make himself small and unassuming, because he recognises that it’s an omega instinct which wants him to do so. “I didn’t know.”</p><p class="western">“Indeed.” The tiny alpha regains her composure and flicks through the folder she’s assembled on him. “I will synthesize suppressants for after this heat though. You’re going to have to start out on a low dose with regular breaks – a heat every three months – until your hormones fully settle down in about a year’s time.”</p><p class="western">Keith’s skin prickles, his scalp crawling with how hot he suddenly feels.</p><p class="western">“I have to do this for a whole year? I can’t! I can’t be an omega for a year!”</p><p class="western">Pidge does not say that he has to be an omega for the rest of his life, she doesn’t need to. Keith’s hindbrain is already doing a pretty good job of replaying every disparaging thing he’s ever said or thought about anyone because of their base biology, and the weight of the memories crush him where he sits.</p><p class="western">“Fuck.”</p><p class="western">“You could avoid the need for suppressants altogether of course.”</p><p class="western">“Huh? How?”</p><p class="western">“Shiro? Your alpha friend?”</p><p class="western">“I’m not telling him. I am not making him deal with this.”</p><p class="western">Pidge ignores him.</p><p class="western">“Stable, mated pairs that have synced heats and ruts also have far lighter heats and ruts. They are able to continue life as normal if they want to, go to work and everything rather than hide out in their houses. Though it only usually works if they within touching distance the whole time. Some choose to take time off anyway as is their right, but they aren’t out of control like unmated heats and ruts can make you feel.”</p><p class="western">“But… we’re not-” Keith cannot say the phrase <em>mated pair,</em> “-together. We’re just friends.”</p><p class="western">“You trill for him.”</p><p class="western">“That <em>doesn’t</em> mean anything.”</p><p class="western">“If you say so.”</p><p class="western">Keith was expecting another argument, and the lack of pushback makes him go suddenly slack.</p><p class="western">“How long have I got until-” <em>my heat</em> is another thing he can’t say. To his dying shame, the question causes Pidge to take an obvious inhalation of his scent.</p><p class="western">“Four days on the outside, maybe less. Keith...” Her scent has gone warmly reassuring once more with notes of rose and lavender. “Please, if I can get you to do only one thing, please tell your friend and don’t try to spend your first heat alone. First heats are rough, a first heat as an adult is really rough, and I wouldn’t want anyone to have to suffer through that without someone they trust.”</p><p class="western">Keith shakes his head, hard.</p><p class="western">It’s not long until Pidge sees him out, back to the unwavering heat of the desert afternoon and the comforting presence of his red hoverbike. He tucks the list she gave him into his inside jacket pocket – supplies recommended to stock up on before his heat – and hopes he can put off shopping until tomorrow. Or perhaps do it online, because all he wants to do now is shower, scour off all his skin, and maybe drink heavily to forget this entire day ever happened. But he won’t, because the opportunity to hang out with Shiro is more important than any amount of discomfort.</p><p class="western">He climbs onto the hoverbike, pulls out his phone, and peers through the cracked screen to forward the official email Pidge sent him with his new secondary gender classification to the Human Relations Office at the Garrison, and then the DMV. He sends a text to Shiro.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Meet you on the roof! I’ll bring snacks.</em>
</p><p class="western">Phone stowed and goggles on, Keith starts the bike, lifts from the ground, and decides to go home cross-country. The dust will be worth it for the excuse to shower and scrub himself just a bit harder than usual.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">“Oh hey, here it comes. Pass me the telescope.”</p><p class="western">Keith finds the brass and leather cylinder beside the cooler and hands it over. For serious star watching sessions, they lug Shiro’s professional telescope and its incredibly heavy stand, up the stairs to the roof of the Garrison building where they are – technically – not allowed to be. But tonight’s just for fun, even if there is a comet coming along any second, so Keith’s old-fashioned sailors’ scope will do just fine.</p><p class="western">Shiro fiddles with the focus, spinning the dial as he peers over the distant star scape. The Garrison has a strict blackout policy, and the reason he and Shiro always come to this roof is that the lights from Mission Township are hidden by the bulk of the building behind them and the view of the sky is as unobstructed as it’s possible to get whilst grounded.</p><p class="western">Other people in their early and mid-twenties are out in bars and clubs, dancing and flirting. Even the less socially outgoing would be on a couch with the holoscreen and snacks. But not Keith, and not Shiro, who both sit on the hard-concrete roof of the Garrison with nothing but a cheap fleece blanket to cushion them, passing the telescope back and forth as they track comet-t2 across the star-studded sky.</p><p class="western">Keith gives up his turn and uses the opportunity to watch his friend as Shiro gazes at the heavens. Shiro has brought drinks, Keith chips, dip, and a bag of candy and trail mix, and apart from a softly murmured comment hoping that Keith was OK; Shiro hasn’t treated him any differently tonight than he’s done on any of a hundred other star watching evenings. They sit knee to knee, shoulders bumping every time one of them moves, and it’s easy and familiar and – just like usual – Keith aches for what he knows he cannot have. He can, almost, <em>almost</em> pretend that the bizarre events of the previous few days <span>are</span> some kind of weird fever dream, because Shiro hugs him just like usual, and the hand which lays on his shoulder now is large and warm.</p><p class="western">He’s just a beta hanging out with his best alpha friend. Nothing has changed.</p><p class="western">“Thanks for this Keith.”</p><p class="western">“How were your students today?”</p><p class="western">Shiro makes a pained noise and finger combs his white bangs down over his eyes.</p><p class="western">“Allura may never forgive me...” Keith’s interest is piqued, but Shiro’s scent has gone deep and murky, like a woodland under cloudy skies. There is unhappy tension across his shoulders that Keith wants to smooth away. “Let’s talk about something else. Are you off tomorrow?”</p><p class="western">“I have the rota for next week to go over and the job sheets to check, but I should be done by ten.” It’s at least four hours of paperwork, but for Shiro, Keith will get it done in two.</p><p class="western">“Come to town with me and ensure I don’t get distracted running errands? I still have to buy a present to send my aunt for her birthday.”</p><p class="western">Keith hates shopping, and Shiro knows this, but the moment the alpha finishes speaking Keith feels the trill building in his throat. He grits his teeth, but it gets out anyway. A sweet little note of pleasure in the otherwise quiet night air. Keith winces.</p><p class="western">“Fuck. I’m sorry.”</p><p class="western">“Don’t worry about it. Please say you have stuff to get too, right? So, it doesn’t feel so much like I’m just hauling you around the mall for no good reason?”</p><p class="western">Keith prefers to buy whatever he needs from the commissary as often as possible, because he’s not fussy, he grew up poor, and he’s used to making do and getting by. It’s not like anyone gives a damn if his soap and shampoo are standard issue and smell like artificial lemon. But he thinks of the list Pidge gave him, mostly unread and still tucked into the inside pocket of his red and white jacket down in his quarters. Instead of reassuring Shiro that he does indeed need to shop, he fucking trills. Again.</p><p class="western">Keith wants to sink into the floor and die in a cement grave, he’s so embarrassed.</p><p class="western">But Shiro doesn’t say anything. Instead he makes a soft, low pitched noise which makes Keith’s blood sing, and slings an arm around his shoulder, pointing skyward with his prosthetic hand at the bright glint of International Space Station-6 as it begins a low pass overhead. At least, it’s probably Station-6, Keith doesn’t always keep track of them.</p><p class="western"><a id="__DdeLink__257_2397023010" name="__DdeLink__257_2397023010"></a> The movement brings them together, closer than before, and Keith is hyper-aware of the heat of Shiro, the weight of the arm around him. But it doesn’t feel like something oppressive. Instead he feels <em>safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protected</em>. Wanted. He takes a breath and Shiro’s scent is awash with bright spring-green notes and the moist flavour of succulent leaves and new shoots poking through fresh grass. He trills, far louder than before. Shiro squeezes his shoulder and chuffs in response. It’s an automatic alpha noise, but not something he’s ever known Shiro to make before. A quick glance through his bangs at Shiro’s face shows that his friend is smiling, as handsome and beatific as ever, and there is no outward sign he’s even aware that it happened.</p><p class="western">It’s probably for the best, Shiro can’t be going around chuffing at random betas; he’ll ruin his chances of scoring a decent mate. The thought leaves Keith cold with jealousy.</p><p class="western">“You OK there, Keith?”</p><p class="western">“Yeah, fine.” For some reason, Shiro’s casual use of his name makes him die a little bit inside, but in such a good way.</p><p class="western">“So, what have you got to get in town?” Shiro asks casually, as though his mere presence it’s devastating for Keith.</p><p class="western">Keith thinks of the list. A list of supplies he will need to get, to help him survive his first ever heat. He realises that he’s not going to be able to pass <span>much</span> of it off as random purchases, and that he <span>might</span> need to visit the sorts of stores he’s never set foot in before.</p><p class="western">And Shiro is going to be with him.</p><p class="western">He’s so fucked.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Instinct</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Keith and Shiro go shopping.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for all the continued love. So many hugs xxx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Keith stands over his desk, shifting his weight from foot to foot, impatient to be done with his paperwork. He scrawls his signature on the work orders and fills in invoice details for various departments as quickly as he can. His bare fingertips snag on the texture of a lengthy, multi-page job sheet: the white, green, and pink carbon papers they use are different from the rest. He glares at it. The work and parts list for the damaged student jet – the one which got thrown up in – is already several pages long. Keith grits his teeth, mindful now of his tongue against the sharp points of his fangs, and discards it. He already feels guilty that someone else will have to finish the work on it. He should have worked on it yesterday afternoon instead of going to the clinic, and at best he only has two more days of actual work time left available before… he has to go.</p><p class="western">He is still refusing to think the words <em>my heat,</em> even in the privacy of his own head.</p><p class="western">He translates the crabbed-spider writing of one of the new junior mechanics into something far more legible: ‘Twelve-cylinder propulsions system, missing three pistons and requiring new spark plugs all round’. His eyes flick to his PADD, there was no email this morning from HR, and the lack of communication is making him anxious.</p><p class="western">It was bad enough that he woke up curled up around Shiro’s hoodie again – despite the fact it had been in the laundry hamper – and he does not want to deal with the fact his subconscious got up to go and fetch it. But he also woke up with the front of his boxers warm and wet, his fangs shredding the pillowcase, and <em>alpha, alpha, alpha</em> repeating in his head. He has to try and banish the remaining images from his head before he meets up with Shiro or he might spontaneously combust. Given what the future may hold for him, it doesn’t altogether seem like such a terrible option.</p><p class="western">He raises his head from his paperwork, whole body going tense at the flare of scent which reaches him just before the knock at the door. Impassive, alpha, cold. The alpha doesn’t wait, impatient like alphas everywhere are want to be. Keith resists both the urge to growl and to step back, in order to be unassuming and difficult to pin down: he’s never thought about a situation at work like that before. This new normal, sucks.</p><p class="western">“Kogane?”</p><p class="western">Alphas and omegas only make up half of the general population, but the Garrison seems to have more than its fair share. There are a lot of alphas in command posts, and the man in the doorway is not who Keith might have anticipated. If Keith was expecting a visit, it might have been from the Head of Flight Engineering; his main liaison between the military arm of the Garrison and the various mechanics who, despite their security clearance, are a civil department. He was certainly not expecting Commander Iverson, a severe middle-aged alpha with a scar over one eye, and all the personable qualities of a combat droid. Keith only knows who he is because he's Shiro's commanding officer and was in charge of the disaster of press conferences that surrounded the accident Shiro had before they met.</p><p class="western">Keith grips his pencil tighter and tries to feel tall. After all, this is <em>his</em> office. His name is on the door and everything.</p><p class="western">“Commander Iverson. What can the Mechanics Department do for you today?”</p><p class="western">“I saw your email to Human Resources.”</p><p class="western">Keith doesn’t say anything. It’s not a question, and he knows <em>someone</em> had to have shown it to Iverson because the CO in charge of Active Duty and all the training programs does not take an interest in the emails of a beta mechanic. He does not miss the way Iverson’s nostrils flare, inhaling the scent of his office, of Keith himself, and Keith feels suddenly chilled.</p><p class="western">“Yes, well. It’s very unusual to have an employee’s designation change like this.”</p><p class="western">That’s still not a question, but Keith wants a way out of this conversation.</p><p class="western">“Oh. Do I need to email a different department?” He knows he doesn’t.</p><p class="western">“You’ll have to have a new physical.” There’s no way Commander Iverson came all the way down here just to tell him that. “And ID passes.” The alpha’s fingers twitch, like he wants to grab onto something. Keith is very pleased his ID badge and all his digital key fobs are in his pocket, the lanyard tucked safely away as it always is.</p><p class="western">“When?”</p><p class="western">“Ideally, soon… Well, after your heat I suppose. The vacation time you asked for has been declined.”</p><p class="western">“What?”</p><p class="western">Keith feels all the blood in his body drain to his feet. He can’t be at work and have heat, he just can’t. People will be able to see him and smell him and he had paid attention in high school biology enough to know that he might not have much self-awareness or control when it gets really bad. There is an acrid stench in the air, a sour scent which makes him want to throw up. It takes a moment for him to realise it’s coming from himself, throbbing along with his increased heart rate. The back of his neck prickles hotly, his wrists itch under the long sleeves of his jacket and his fingerless gloves.</p><p class="western">“Heat and rut leave <span>doesn’t</span> come out of your holiday allowance, Kogane. It’s medical. You fill out a green form and file it with the clinical secretary.”</p><p class="western">Keith does not understand why the fuck all the forms are designated by colour when they are digital. He takes a breath, trying to calm himself, but the action brings with it a lungful of Iverson’s scent: still impersonal and cold, but now with thick floral notes Keith doesn’t know the name of. His brain supplies him with the knowledge that the alpha is trying to reassure him, and Keith rebels.</p><p class="western">“Fine. I’ll do that. Excuse me, Commander.”</p><p class="western">Keith walks past him to reach the door. He forces himself not to sidle right along the far wall like an omega might do. He can deal with unwanted attention, he’s stronger than that. Iverson catches his shoulder, grip large and powerful. Keith closes his teeth against the snarl in his throat. In a society where touching someone, especially touching someone near their scent glands, carries a lot of weight, no one as mature or well educated as Iverson can claim ignorance of how such a touch must feel. The fabric of Keith’s jacket is between them, but Keith knows if the other man touches his skin he will actually scream. He wants to be anywhere else but here.</p><p class="western">“You are still friends with Captain Shirogane, are you not?”</p><p class="western">That is a direct question, but Keith can’t answer him when it’s taking every ounce of self-control he has not to claw his way out of his fucking skin. He manages a nod.</p><p class="western">“He is an alpha, the greatest instructor we have, the best pilot of his generation. This new designation of yours isn’t going to be a <em>problem</em>, is it?” The way he says it, it’s as though he thinks this is Keith’s choice, as though he decided to ruin his own life.</p><p class="western">Keith has never felt one way or the other about the Commander before, but now he hates him.</p><p class="western">“Let go of me.”</p><p class="western">And there must be just enough growl in his voice, and sharp flintiness in his scent for the threat of potential violence to be serious; because it works, and the alpha lifts his hand. He steps away and backs out of Keith’s office and to the side, so he won’t have to pass him again.</p><p class="western">“Good luck with your heat, Kogane.” Keith can tell that Iverson wants to say <em>omega</em> instead of his name, and that knowledge rankles.</p><p class="western">He waits just long enough to lock his office, never turning his back to the corridor down which Iverson vanishes. He pockets his keys once more and sprints for the safety of the open hanger, the bustle of personnel, engineers, and whichever mechanics pulled weekend duty. He doesn’t stop to speak with anyone, but exits out into the bright, hot mid-morning sunshine, the tarmac beneath his boots already shimmering with the heat; and decides to jog the long way around to the bench where he and Shiro always meet whenever they take the bus.</p><p class="western">He tells himself it’s not too hot to jog wearing a jacket and long trousers, but he also knows he won’t meet anyone if he goes that way.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">Forty minutes later, Keith can almost forget the unpleasant incidents of his morning when Shiro holds up a potted cactus in one hand, and a really soft but luridly coloured silk scarf in the other and makes desperate puppy eyes at him because he can’t choose which one to send to his aunt. Keith sighs, and relieves him of both items.</p><p class="western">“OK, nice as it is, the cactus is not going to survive the journey by post.” Shiro’s face falls comically, and Keith only resists the urge to ruffle his hair because he’s folding the scarf back up. “And your aunt is like, the most practical person ever, you said? She’d love the scarf because it was from you, but she wouldn’t wear it.”</p><p class="western">Shiro sighs so heavily Keith almost thinks he’s faking.</p><p class="western">“Practical presents are good. It’s nice, being able to use the things people you love buy you.” Keith’s gaze falls automatically to the black fingerless gloves covering his hands. Shiro bought them for him for his birthday last year. An almost perfect, but far higher quality, replacement for the pair Keith had been abusing since he was seventeen. Shiro is looking too, his scent is all buttery and warm and familiar in the best way… and then Keith realises what he just said.</p><p class="western"><em>The people you love…</em> he puts the scarf back on a shelf to cover for the fact he wants to make a fist and punch his already damaged knuckles into the nearest hard surface. But Shiro doesn’t appear to have noticed his verbal slip up, so he takes a breath and lets it go.</p><p class="western">“So, your aunt loves her garden, right?” She does, Keith’s seen pictures; including one of a small and adorable Shiro with his then much-younger aunt both covered in soil, beaming over a newly planted baby tree. “Let’s start with that.”</p><p class="western">Shiro ends up buying his aunt a pair of fancy Japanese drop-forged secateurs that Shiro knows she really wants but would never buy for herself because it would be in indulgence. Keith waits in line with him at the post office as the package is carefully wrapped, boxed, addressed, and mailed by a friendly beta who keeps flashing them both with fond smiles. And they’re not the only one. Shiro slings his arm around Keith’s neck as they leave the post office, keeping him close in the general bustle of the mall whilst gesturing expansively with his other hand, describing the flight path for a complex aerial stunt manoeuvre he’s been working on. This contact Keith doesn’t mind, his brain doesn’t scream at him to get away. Instead he finds himself leaning in, breathing deeply and thinking <em>safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protected</em>. It’s not until the third person passing them in the other direction smiles – closed lips, no fangs, an expression of sentimental approval on their face – that he realises what they must look like, or smell like, to other people. He can’t help his shiver, and the motion causes Shiro to let go.</p><p class="western">“You OK?”</p><p class="western">“Yeah, fine. Kinda hungry.”</p><p class="western">“You wanna have random it’s-not-actually-lunch-time food?” Shiro’s grin broadens, eyes lighting up. “You think the bakery in the food hall will still have donuts?”</p><p class="western">“Let’s go check.”</p><p class="western">There are donuts left, and Shiro buys the last two with the biggest boy-scout grin Keith has ever seen. He doesn’t want to take away from his friend’s joy, and chooses a savoury pork-stuffed bun because he is actually hungry. He realises he didn’t stop for breakfast, and follows Shiro across the only sparsely populated dining area.</p><p class="western">Shiro paid, he often does when Keith can’t get to the register before him, and a flower of adoration at being <em>provided</em> for, begins to open in his chest as he looks down at the paper wrapped food in his hands. His alpha bought him food, wants him to be well-fed, cares for- Keith scowls and stops himself. Shiro isn’t his alpha, and he isn’t a helpless omega who needs to be coddled. And that’s an unfair stereotype anyway!</p><p class="western">The hurried scrape of a metal chair across lino pulls him out of his head.</p><p class="western">“C-Captain!”</p><p class="western">“McClain. There’s no need for that, we’re off duty.”</p><p class="western">Keith glances up in time to see the omega who trashed the student jet fumble as he drops his salute. His nostrils flare as his gaze switches to Keith. Keith glares from under his bangs, and the omega looks away quickly.</p><p class="western">“I was just finished, Sir.” He sidesteps around Shiro, head tilted in a gesture of subservience which makes Keith flush hotly with jealousy. “Please, take my table.”</p><p class="western">“There’s no need-” Shiro begins.</p><p class="western">And there really isn’t a need, not at all. It is totally unnecessary for him to give up his table since there are plenty of empty ones. But the omega is making his excuses, and departs with another salute. Keith slides into one of the chairs not previously occupied by Senior Cadet, Second Class McClain.</p><p class="western">“Why does he have to be so… ingratiating?” He unwraps his bun and takes a decent bite. If Shiro notices his exposed fangs he says nothing of it.</p><p class="western">Shiro shrugs. It can hardly have escaped his attention that Keith and McClain don’t get on, the run in over the damaged jet was not the first they’d had. McClain has been making a nuisance of himself ever since he finished first year with an inflated sense of his own importance.</p><p class="western">“It’s just his biology. He can’t help it.”</p><p class="western">Keith gapes at him, blood running cold.</p><p class="western">“I try not to make a big deal, y’know? The urge to give involuntary privilege can make omeg-” But Keith doesn’t hear any of the rest of what Shiro’s saying. He doesn’t want to. It was such a casual, offhand remark; the kind of slight which Shiro had always demonstrated that he finds distasteful and rude. But his sudden presentation hasn’t damaged his hearing and Keith knows that’s what his best friend just said.</p><p class="western">An omega did something because they were an omega, and Shiro just let it happen. Keith eats some more, because otherwise he’s going to bite his tongue. What’s going to happen when he says or does something <em>because he’s an omega</em>? Shiro is the least prejudiced person Keith knows, but he doesn’t have any omega friends. Not one. Keith sneaks a glance across the table to where Shiro is eating his second donut like he might be a little bit in love with it, and he wonders just how many small friendship moments they have left between them.</p><p class="western">The opening words he was going to say about his new diagnosis die in his throat.</p><p class="western">“So, what’s on your list?”</p><p class="western">“Huh?”</p><p class="western">Shiro frowns, taking a deep breath. He has powdered sugar on his nose, but that’s not enough to stop him from sensing whatever the scents around him are saying. Thick, dark brows knit together.</p><p class="western">“Something on your mind, Keith?”</p><p class="western">“No.”</p><p class="western">But that’s the beauty of his friendship with Shiro. Not once has Shiro ever pushed him to talk about something he doesn’t want to talk about, and it seems that today is no exception. Shiro merely nods, retrieving a napkin to wipe his sugary fingers and Keith gestures to the sugar on the tip of his nose as he pulls the list out of his jacket pocket.</p><p class="western">He doesn’t actually need to look at it, because he’s read and crumpled and smoothed and refolded it so many times <span>now</span>, he could probably make a perfectl replica in his sleep.</p><p class="western">“Bunch of random groceries.” <em>Gatorade or other electrolyte replacements drinks</em>, the list reads, <em>salty snacks – chips and pretzels – sweets if liked</em>. Keith scrawled <em>cake?</em> alongside it and wonders if there’s a way to track down the passion fruit sponge Shiro brought him, without actually having to ask Shiro about it. “I need some new bedding too. You mind if we go to the big department store?”</p><p class="western">“Cool. Let’s do it.”</p><p class="western">Normally, Keith dislikes department stores. They are confusingly laid out and often busy with people wandering aimlessly. But this way he won’t have to go into an omega specific shop, and hopefully Shiro will get distracted by something he sees long enough for Keith to slip away and get some of the more embarrassing items on his list without being seen. The heavily obliterated line which once read <em>heat aids and omega plugs</em> stares up at him accusingly. Keith doesn’t care how much Pidge thinks he’ll need them during his heat, there is no way he’s choosing, buying, or using any of those. He’s never wanted sex toys before and he’s not going to fucking start now.</p><p class="western">Shopping is boring generally, or stressful, but shopping with Shiro is fun even if half of Keith’s brain is looking for opportunities to bolt and run. Shiro doesn’t ask questions as they load a large basket with two extra pillows Keith can’t imagine he’ll actually need, cases for said pillows, and a large faux fur blanket. Keith’s got a light weight duvet and winter blanket in his quarters already, and it seems like plenty.</p><p class="western">On their way towards the escalators, Shiro stills, momentarily distracted by a display of photo frames. The man has a lot of family, and his quarters are littered with photographs. Keith smiles.</p><p class="western">“Go on, I’ll just go grab some stuff from upstairs and meet you at the checkout?” Keith knocks their shoulders together – or rather, his shoulder and Shiro’s considerable bicep – and he hopes it’s his imagination which allows him to see Shiro’s quick inhale and the way his eyes go wide. But he nods, and Keith doesn’t linger.</p><p class="western">The section of the store he needs is on the other side of the underwear and lingerie – not actually blocked off or anything, but enough to discourage casual browsing by kids too young to know better. He’d have to go to a proper, adults only, omega store if he was going to get everything on Pidge’s list.</p><p class="western">Cooling gel should help with the fact that the back of his neck and his wrists itch almost constantly. There is a similar hot burning prickle on the skin of his inner thighs, right up where the in-seam of his jeans rubs under the hem of his boxers and that’s another thing Keith doesn’t want to think about. He grabs two tubes of the gel, and one small bottle of lube; even if he’s not buying sex toys he’s not an idiot and he knows he’s going to need to jerk off more than usual. His gaze falls on the shelf next to him where several brands, styles, and colours of speciality underwear is on display.</p><p class="western">Omega underwear. The type omegas wear during their preheat, and their heat if they have to go out. Cut longer and closer in the leg than the boxer briefs he usually favours, and with added padding and compression patches, to absorb and suppress his scent. They’re on the list, unlike the lube, but this isn’t like extra bedding. Almost everything else on the list, he can pass off as being general supplies – even if altogether the items build an unmistakable picture of heat prep – but not this. No beta has a reason to want or wear these. He figures he’s not going to want to do laundry mid heat, so he picks up the cheapest multipack and shoves it deep into his basket.</p><p class="western">“These ones are softer.” An omega store assistant with a friendly, close-lipped smile indicates a pair on their own little hanger, red with black accents, and considerably more money than the ones Keith has chosen. “Especially good if you’re spending your heat by yourself.” Keith grunts non-committally. “A really good pair will help keep your plug in, so you can get some sleep.”</p><p class="western">Keith recoils as if stung, and smacks directly into the person standing behind him. There is a waft of warmth and a deep spicy, woodsy kind of scent. Keith dares to look up over his shoulder to see Shiro looking down at him, his smile not reaching his eyes.</p><p class="western">The omega sales assistant flushes and steps back.</p><p class="western">“Well, maybe you won’t need them after all.”</p><p class="western">“Keith?”</p><p class="western">Dread is like a stone lodged in his throat. His neck burns, his teeth ache with how hard he’s clenching his jaw, his pulse throbs in his ears. There’s nothing he can say, but since the sales assistant was correct the first time around, he reaches for the fancy red and black omega underwear and drops it in his basket. After all, he is spending his… <em>time</em> alone.</p><p class="western">“Keith?” Shiro’s voice sounds soft, but shaken. His scent has changed too, no longer the reassuring cedarwood notes Keith has come to expect when they are out, nor the hot and buttery popcorn smell Shiro gets when he’s really happy. This smell is uncomfortable and full of concern, like pebbles in the rain. Keith shudders.</p><p class="western">“I don’t- I’m sorry Shiro.”</p><p class="western">For one, awful, horrifying moment Keith wonders if he can pass this whole thing off as shopping for someone else. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a strong beta to attract an omega partner. But Keith’s never actually lied to his friend, even if there are things they’ve never talked about, and he’s not going to start now. He hangs his head, hiding behind his hair, and fights the hot tears that threaten to roll down his cheeks. His alpha is disappointed in him.</p><p class="western">“Shiro… I’m-” He swallows dryly. “I’m an omega now.”</p><p class="western">His alpha- no, <em>Shiro</em> isn’t touching him, and that feels wrong. But Keith can’t close the distance or else he’ll pitch himself head first into Shiro’s chest and embarrass them both so hard Shiro will never speak to him again. There’s too much silence, and even though a store is really not where Keith wants to be having this conversation, he finds words pouring out of him, bitten off and too-fast.</p><p class="western">“I went to a clinic. I mean, I had to after the fangs and the trilling and threatening some jerk in a bar who tried to flirt with me. And they did tests. There’s a study, I’m late- late presenting. And I’m just broken, and they can’t give me suppressants and I’m <em>sorry</em>-”</p><p class="western">“Keith.” Shiro’s hands are on his shoulders. Keith can feel his brain zeroing-in on the touch and the hugeness of Shiro’s hands, the way his fingers wrap around the back of his shoulder blades. “Keith, it’s OK.”</p><p class="western">“Nothing about this is OK. I have to have a- a- fuck, I can’t even-”</p><p class="western">“Keith, stop.”</p><p class="western">His alpha needs him to calm down, Keith stills. Then he overhears his hindbrain and wants to retch. What if Shiro finds out what Keith did to the hoodie he never gave back?</p><p class="western">“Keith… I know.”</p><p class="western">“Shi- what?”</p><p class="western">Shiro takes a half a step back, bringing Keith with him between two racks of floaty omega-styled nightwear and removing them from the pathway of other potential shoppers. It’s sort of privacy, but it makes Keith think of <em>bed</em> even though he’d never wear anything like that, and he feels himself blush.</p><p class="western">“It’s OK, Keith. I know. I’ve sort of known for a while now.”</p><p class="western">“W-when?” Keith never stutters. He hates that he’s been reduced to this.</p><p class="western">Since the gym.</p><p class="western">Keith spirals. Since the gym. Since that moment so many days ago where Shiro failed miserably to fight him or concentrate on their spar. And all because of an omega, because Shiro had smelt hot and lustful… and Keith had accused him of wanting to <em>get his knot in</em>. He covers his face with both hands, inhaling leather and sweaty palms. He even smells embarrassed. And Shiro has known since then.</p><p class="western">“Why didn’t you say anything?” He grits out eventually.</p><p class="western">“Hey.” Shiro has never asked for permission to touch him, their friendship developed easily and organically; there was a never a need for such a formal and stilted discussion on touching consent like a decent, considerate alpha might have with an omega. He doesn’t ask now either, just takes Keith’s hands and pries them away from his face. “Hey, Keith. Look at me. It’s only me, right?”</p><p class="western">Keith manages a nod and a breath.</p><p class="western">“I didn’t say anything because it’s not my place to. You didn’t seem like you wanted to discuss it, and apart from your hand-” He looks pointedly at the bruises poking from Keith’s gloves. “-you seemed to be handling things pretty well. You know I’m always here to help you if you need it, I didn’t figure this would be any different.” Shiro, so warm and solid and reassuring against him, smiles. “You still with me here, champ?”</p><p class="western">Keith feels the band of tension around his throat snap, because his alpha cares, isn’t rejecting him, isn’t pushing him away. He’s <em>safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protected</em>. And then instead of answering Shiro’s question he opens his mouth and fucking <em>trills</em>.</p><p class="western">And Shiro… blushes.</p><p class="western">This close it’s unmistakable, and for once Keith is actually looking at him when it happens, and sees the pink flush over his cheeks, paling the scar tissue which nicks the bridge of his nose. Shiro is blushing, and what Pidge said about the rarity and significance of omegas trilling for alphas replays in his mind.</p><p class="western">He takes a deep breath, and takes the plunge.</p><p class="western">“I have to have a heat.” This much is obvious from the shopping, he’s sure.</p><p class="western">“Oh.” Shiro smiles gently. “Then we should definitely get you some of those little cakes you like so much. You’ll want the energy.”</p><p class="western">Telling Shiro isn’t exactly a weight lifted, but it’s a relief not to sneak around as they walk back through the omega section of the department store. Shiro, ever the diplomat, makes no comment on the items already in Keith’s basket, but steers them back through soft furnishings and grabs a couple of throw cushions and a tightly rolled but plush quilt which he shoves into his own hastily acquired basket. Keith arches an eyebrow, but since they’re <em>not talking about it</em>, he can’t actually complain. Most of the rest of the list is groceries, so they head to the checkout and Keith grits his teeth and projects every ounce of <em>don’t talk to me</em> that he can. Shiro takes his bags for him on the flimsy excuse that Keith will need both hands for choosing snacks, and it makes something in Keith’s chest flutter. He manages not to trill again though.</p><p class="western">Shopping for snacks is far less stressful, and it’s easy to pretend they are simply planning a mega astronomy session out in the desert, rather than buying things Keith will need to replenish his energy during his heat. Shiro is full of fun suggestions and keeps sneaking Keith’s favourites into his basket even when they aren’t on offer. At the register, Keith grabs a vibrantly purple lollipop off the display, and shoves it at Shiro the moment it’s been scanned, just so his friend won’t have any excuse to tease him further about his choices of chips. If Keith likes funyuns that’s no one’s business but his own.</p><p class="western">“So, anything else you have to get?” It shouldn’t be possible for Shiro to carry all the bags in one hand and still smack the lollipop between his lips with such an innocent expression, but somehow it works for him. Keith digs into his ribs hard with an elbow, just to break the rising desire within himself to stare at the shape of Shiro’s mouth making an ‘o’ around the sweet. He pulls the list from his pocket, even though he knows exactly what is written at the bottom.</p><p class="western"><em>Comforting items from your alpha</em>, Pidge had written, then glared at him when Keith had begun to vehemently protest the labelling of Shiro as ‘his’ anything. He knows, in theory, that being alone and in heat is stressful, and that the presence or scent of someone trusted and familiar makes things easier. But he can’t ask Shiro, despite Pidge’s insistence that the kind of comfort he would really need won’t be able to be found in a store. Shiro isn’t his. A strong, capable, available alpha like him shouldn’t be associating too closely with an omega like <span>Keith</span>.</p><p class="western">“No. We’re all good.”</p><p class="western">Shiro’s scent quickly flashes a hot, spicy aroma, gone as quick as it came, and Keith’s omega-hindbrain supplies him with the understanding that Shiro <em>knows</em> he’s lying, and is choosing not to call him out on it. It’s about the only useful thing his new senses have done for him.</p><p class="western">“OK. I just need to stop by the bathrooms before we head out to the bus stop.”</p><p class="western">“Sure.”</p><p class="western">Shiro puts down the bags by the wall and jerks his head at the door marked <em>A</em>.</p><p class="western">“I’ll be quick. You’ll be OK, right?”</p><p class="western">Keith rolls his eyes, then gives Shiro his best pleading eyes.</p><p class="western">“No, I shall pine after you until my last breath.” He aims a kick without force at Shiro’s ankle. “Go you lug. I’ll be fine. I am a big boy you know.”</p><p class="western">Shiro looks like he wants to say something else, but he does eventually turn and vanish from sight. Keith spares a look for the <em>B</em> bathrooms he’s always used, realising that that too is a habit which will have to change. And it might be a stereotype, but the lines for omega bathrooms are always longer. Keith allows his shoulders to thud into the wall behind him and pulls out his phone. He really should get the screen fixed, but he can still just about see through the broken pixels. He has the specs for the coolant system Shiro likes on there, and <span>working on</span> the redesign will keep his brain busy from thinking too much about his upcoming time off work.</p><p class="western">“Hey.”</p><p class="western">Keith glances up and to his other side, away from the bathrooms. A guy waves at him, polite and friendly with a slight smile. Keith nods back.</p><p class="western">“Hello.”</p><p class="western"><span>Keith</span> thinks he vaguely recognises him, though he doesn’t have the military bearing of most Garrison personnel. Perhaps he just has one of those faces.</p><p class="western">“Good haul today?” The other guy – an alpha, his hindbrain supplies – motions to the bags at Keith’s feet. With Shiro’s purchases there as well, it looks like a lot. The stranger arrives with a soft wash of sweet and salty scent, almost spicy, and certainly not unpleasant.</p><p class="western">“Oh, yeah. Suppose so. You know how errands pile up.”</p><p class="western">He’s about to go back to his phone, but the alpha groans in agreement and leans onto the wall next to him. Close, but not touching. Respectful. And that’s nice, respect from strangers has been thin on the ground of late. Keith pockets his phone.</p><p class="western">“God, tell me about it.” The alpha makes an expansive hand gesture, just like Shiro does. “Like, you know you should go shopping every week but instead you wait until the refrigerator is completely barren before you haul yourself out to the store.”</p><p class="western">“Ha! Or when you have to do laundry in questionable outfits because everything else is dirty.”</p><p class="western">The alpha beams at him, but he still doesn’t show the points of his fangs. It’s a non-dominant gesture.</p><p class="western">“I have a hard time believing there’s anything which looks questionable on you.”</p><p class="western">The salt-sweet scent floods the air with heat like a bite of chilli, but Keith barely notices, thinking of the last time he and Shiro ended up doing laundry side by side after a slightly disastrous hoverbike race through the desert.</p><p class="western">“Motor oil and dust doesn’t actually look good on anyone.” Except possibly Shiro.</p><p class="western">Keith huffs a soft laugh at himself, and his nose instantly fills with the familiar buttery scent of Shiro. He turns to greet his friend, but Shiro’s brows are drawn low, hands fisted, shoulders tense as he stalks across to them. The hand which thumps into the wall next to his head is in no way reassuring, but Shiro isn’t looking at him, all his attention focused on the other alpha.</p><p class="western">“Shiro?”</p><p class="western">“Can I help you?” he practically growls, and for some reason Keith can’t explain, the gravelly sound causes a liquid shiver to run down his spine. The other alpha blanches, eyes wide.</p><p class="western">“I- er- no. It was nice meeting you.” The man squeaks, practically throws himself away from the wall, and doesn’t glance back as he hurries away.</p><p class="western">Keith stares.</p><p class="western">“What the fuck, Shiro?”</p><p class="western">“You can’t just let random alphas come onto you like that Keith. It gives the wrong impression. It fucking <em>shouldn’t</em>, but there are plenty of knotheads who try to take advantages of omegas in pre-heat.” Shiro looks stressed, and his scent is struck through with worry and concern.</p><p class="western">“What are you talking about?”</p><p class="western">“Keith...” Shiro pinches his eyebrows, expression pained. “He was flirting with you”.</p><p class="western">“We were just talking.” Keith frowns. People don’t try and flirt with him, and why would they? He has a resting expression of flinty defiance, no fashion sense, and he’s just a beta after all. But...oh. “He smelt spicy.”</p><p class="western">“Yeah, ‘cause he was wearing fucking scent suppressors. I’d bet he’s due his rut any day now.” Shiro looks like he’s considering going after the other guy. “Trying to snag someone to keep for a rut is fucking degenerate behaviour, and dangerous. What a jerk.”</p><p class="western">Keith gathers up a couple of the bags without responding, and Shiro gets the rest before they head out of the cool air conditioning of the mall and into the sweltering heat of the early afternoon, to wait for the Garrison shuttle.</p><p class="western">Sitting together with so much bulky shopping would be awkward, and Shiro opts for taking the seats behind Keith instead. When Keith half turns to look at him, Shiro gives him a tight-lipped smile, his eyes distant. Keith feels his chest clench painfully. His alpha doesn’t want to be near him.</p><p class="western">This can’t go on forever, because people are going to get the wrong idea about the two of them, and Shiro deserves to have a proper chance at finding a deserving mate. But Keith’s not selfless enough to severe their connection by himself, and so when Shiro drops him and the shopping off at his quarters, he gets the alpha to agree to a spar after work the following day. It’s only once Shiro is gone, that Keith realises Shiro’s extra soft furnishings are now mixed in with his own.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Resistance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Keith goads Shiro into a fight, and Shiro has a few things to say.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you you for much for your continued support. Your comments bring us such joy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Keith puts away all his new purchases when he gets home; only to spring awake at three in the morning filled with the strange, primal urge to find every soft thing he owns and turn his bed into some kind of plush cave. He resists. He’s not an animal and he doesn’t need to make a fucking nest. He’s not even in heat yet.</p><p class="western">Lying on his bed refusing to move only works for about an hour, then he paces the length of his quarters until his palms tingle with the desire to go dig Shiro’s ruined hoodie from the laundry again. He doesn’t need to glance down at the tented front of his boxers to know what it is his hindbrain wants.</p><p class="western">He itches. The newly developing scent glands on his wrists are visibly swollen, and the skin over them is faintly oily. And he smells. He knows that not all scents are the same to everyone, but when he lifts his wrist to his face in the privacy of his own quarters, the sharp tang of spice makes his stomach growl and his nose tickle in equal measure. When he shifts uncomfortably in his boxers, he is overly aware that the fabric against his thighs is damp. He’s going to have to do more laundry, and he fucking hates laundry. After a moment of indecision, he sheds his boxers, kicks them towards the hamper, and heads for the shower, despite the insistent bobbing of his eager erection. He’s not giving into a quick and dirty hand job, because he can practically feel the phrase ‘<em>my alpha’</em> lingering in his hindbrain. Just ready to smack him around the head the moment he gives in to his libido.</p><p class="western">Keith loves hot showers, the closer the temperature is to reddening him like a lobster the better. But now he stands under barely tepid spray as it stings, genuinely considering how much pain he’d have to cause himself to get his erection to subside. He shivers, grabs a sponge and his usual body wash the begins to scrub himself down at un-kindly as possible. The moment the artificial-lemon scent reaches him, he wants to retch. His eyes water painfully until he’s forced to drop the sponge and douse himself until the smell is mostly cleared. He pulls his wrist up to his nose again and takes a deep whiff of the rich, spicy scent which reminds him of the vegetable fritters sold from a food truck downtown.</p><p class="western">His alpha likes that scent. Keith catches himself at the tail end of the thought, other hand already dropping down to his cock. No, not his alpha. Shiro isn’t <em>his</em> anything.</p><p class="western">The shower is obviously a failure, but he can’t go out with his oily glands and his scent as strong as it is. As he steps back out into the little bathroom his gaze falls on the vibrantly green and orange tub of industrial degreaser which sits in a corner of his bathroom sink. Everyone in the mechanics department has one, because although they wash up before leaving the hangars, there’s always ingrained engine oil in knuckles or nail beds, and sometimes regular soap just won’t cut it. The scent is pretty neutral, an achievement considering the chemical makeup of the abrasive gel, and he’s fairly certain it will do the double job of ridding him of oil, and stopping his glands from itching so badly.</p><p class="western">Keith scoops two fingers into the degreaser and rubs it into his opposite wrist gland, then repeats the motion with his other hand and wrist. Half crossing his arms in front of his chest as he beings to work the artificially gritty mixture into the swollen skin. He grits his teeth because <em>it fucking hurts so badly</em>, but he refuses to whine and whimper. He’s already been more needy since the day he grew the sodding fangs than he has been in his entire life. The flash of cold sea-salt scent which fills him reeks of worry over what his alpha will think, and Keith squashes it down. But it takes force.</p><p class="western">He growls, pushes his fingers harder into the stinging pain, clenching his jaw until that pain eclipses the other, and <span>his</span> original scent of cardamom and chilli is far less powerful.</p><p class="western">There is blood in the sink, mixed with the water from his skin and the fallen blobs of the abrasive cleaner. There’s blood on his hands.</p><p class="western">Keith sticks his hands under the cold faucet, winces, and stands there until the water runs clear. Or clear-ish anyway. The back of his neck still itches, and his inner thighs still feel oily, but he knows he’s not determined enough to repeat the same procedure there on even more sensitive skin. He shivers instead of drying himself, then digs out the multipack of omega-styled underwear and pulls a pair on, feeling sick for a completely different reason. He smells like an omega, and now he’s dressing like one too. Keith wonders how many more bits of his soul he’s going to lose to his secondary biology. He wonders if one of them will be the ability to care about it.</p><p class="western">Bed, the thick pile of new fluffy linens and blankets, and the memory of Shiro’s scented hoodie all call to him, so Keith dresses in the first clothes he can find, happy at least that the shirt has long sleeves, and heads out. The Garrison gym complex is open twenty-four hours, and no one said he couldn’t run his energy off on one of the machines.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">Apart from the fact he has to jog back to his quarters during mid-morning break and change his underwear for a pair which aren’t damp along the inner thighs, Keith’s day goes pretty much as standard. He makes sure each of his mechanics has their job sheets, gives the new kid the task of stock inventory and signing in deliveries, then inserts himself into the guts of the damaged student jet with a circuit tester and a kit for small soldering repairs. Hopefully the vomit has only corroded the connections and not actually damaged any microprocessors. Already, Keith’s decided the Engineering department is going to have to split the bill with the Flight department for the utter mess that’s been made of this thing.</p><p class="western">That afternoon, the first-year students <span>are</span> being taken through the big simulators in the main hangar, then shuttled in threes over to the flight deck for their first taste of flying faster than the speed of sound. Even from inside the slightly-less-ruined jet, Keith can feel the echo every time the demo pilot creates a sonic boom.</p><p class="western">Keith steps out of the hanger at the end of the day just as another boom goes off, this one very loud and very low, and he knows it’s Shiro flying. The steep banked turn which follows only confirms it. Anyone else would catch hell from Iverson for that move, but not Shiro. Shiro is the golden boy, and can do no wrong. Keith feels himself flush at the thought, his skin suddenly hot, and his wrists throb. He hasn’t washed with the abrasive cleanser again, but a packet of alcohol wipes in his pocket has been keeping the oily sensation and the smell under control. They sting, but Keith refuses to look and see how badly his skin is damaged.</p><p class="western">He clocks out, grabs his gym bag, and heads for the landing pad where Shiro will be pulling up any moment, despite the heat haze stinging his eyes. Everything out on the tarmac smells of hot asphalt and burnt kerosene, and it’s oddly reassuring. Even before the Garrison, these were the scents Keith associated with comfort and safety. The smells which reminded him of his father, of being free and moving fast, before his life went to shit.</p><p class="western">The Micro Concorde plane which Shiro has been breaking the sound barrier in comes in to land and, as always, ends up precisely on the stopping markers painted onto the blacktop. The plane has a side door and a retractable ladder, but Shiro jumps down the last four rungs, turning in his direction.</p><p class="western">The sight never fails to make his heart race. Shiro, the best pilot he’s ever seen, his alpha, beaming wide with shining fangs, and raising a hand in greeting. Keith starts toward him, and then stops himself. This time, it takes physical effort to plant his feet on the ground. He balls his hands into fists, because Shiro’s <em>not his</em>, they’re just friends, and that’s fine. Shiro’s easy grin stays in place as he bids goodbye to his students and his co-pilot – Allura’s dark skin and bright hair are as distinctive as her clean, warmly citrus scent – but as he gets close to Keith, his face falls.</p><p class="western">“Keith? You OK?”</p><p class="western">Keith wishes he couldn’t see the brief flaring of Shiro’s nostrils when he takes an unconscious inhale.</p><p class="western">“Been working on that jet. I probably stink. Sorry.”</p><p class="western">Shiro’s grey gaze falls to his gym bag.</p><p class="western">“You sure you’re up for workouts?”</p><p class="western">Keith is hyper-aware of the fact that Shiro hasn’t touched him yet. And he shouldn’t be. Shiro’s casual with his touches, always has been with him, but it doesn’t mean anything and just because he <em>usually</em> grasps Keith’s shoulder doesn’t mean he has to every time. Keith has no right to expect that. Instinct tells him to tilt his head, to offer his neck and show deference and loyalty to his alpha, and it takes every micron of his hard-won self-control not to. He tightens his grip in his gym bag until his knuckles are white.</p><p class="western">Shiro isn’t his fucking alpha.</p><p class="western">“You need to grab anything, or can we go straight there and <span>get</span> dinner after?”</p><p class="western">Shiro signs his activation pass over to the Flight ground crew, and they walk side by side through the nearest entrance of the main building. The air conditioning is like an icy blast compared to heat Keith’s been working in all day, and he shivers. Shiro’s arm comes up instantly to his shoulder and he makes a soft noise of concern.</p><p class="western">Before he’s even aware of it, Keith’s leant into the touch, tuning his head to nose at Shiro’s wrist, a gentle trill vibrating his vocal cords. They both stiffen in the same instant.</p><p class="western">He was practically scenting his friend. In public. Keith can feel the back of his neck burning.</p><p class="western">“Fuck. Sorry.” Keith steps away, drawing ahead by a pace, then two. “Let’s just go the gym.” He shouldn’t even have any energy left, not after waking up at stupid o’clock in the morning and then running for hours. And he didn’t even break for lunch.</p><p class="western">In the changing rooms, Shiro is quick to shed his jacket and flight suit, switching for his usual combination of athletic leggings and muscle tank. Keith forces himself not to look, because his libido has been kind of treacherous all day, and that outfit isn’t making things any easier. Shiro sits as he beings his once-daily software check of his arm, running the nano-sensors through their paces as he bends, stretches, and touches his fingertips to each other and various points on his body in an unwavering sequence Keith has witnessed hundreds of times. He uses Shiro’s distraction as cover to slip out of his cargo trousers and into his own compression pants. He doesn’t want Shiro to see that he’s actually using the underwear he bought. He’s never seen Shiro spar with an omega, they haven’t discussed it, and Keith doesn’t want to. Their friendship clearly has a timer on it, and he can’t bear to think how quickly the countdown will run out.</p><p class="western">It’s only as he’s changing his shirt, for one which does not have soldering particles scattered across the front, that he realises Shiro’s watching him.</p><p class="western">“Ready?” He asks as casually as he can manage. He tugs on the hem of his tee, reaches up to scrape his hair away from his face – he has hairbands around here somewhere, he’s sure – and freezes when Shiro’s warm hand wraps around his forearm.</p><p class="western">“Keith...”</p><p class="western">“It’s fine.”</p><p class="western">It’s not fine, that much is painfully obvious, because Keith’s scent glands are swollen and raw, the skin cracked and crusted with flakes of dried blood. The surrounding area is pink where he abraded it; hot, like it’s infected.</p><p class="western">“Keith, I’m not sure-” Shiro begins, everything about him banked with concern, his scent butter soft and alluring.</p><p class="western">The urge to metaphorically roll over and show his belly rises, and Keith snaps it back with an audible bite of his fangs.</p><p class="western">“I said <em>I’m fine</em>. Now, are you coming or not?” He doesn’t wait for a response, and even though every instinct he has tells him not to, he turns his back on Shiro and walks away into the gym.</p><p class="western">Keith completes his warm up without incident, though every full stretch aches far more than it should, and he rises up from the last of his lunges to find Shiro standing just a fraction too close, and staring at him. The alpha’s eyes are almost all iris and his jaw hangs open a fraction. His teeth look sharp, shiny. Keith wants to go and slot himself between those lips and be lifted from the floor by the strongest arms he knows. He resists.</p><p class="western">“What?”</p><p class="western">It takes a full ten heartbeats for Shiro to visibly come back to himself. The man gives himself a little shake, steps back and breaks Keith’s gaze by running the fingers of his prosthetic hand through his white bangs. His other hand is a fist.</p><p class="western">“Sorry.”</p><p class="western">“Don’t worry about it.” Keith says, “Spar?”</p><p class="western">“What?”</p><p class="western">For a second, Keith wonders if he’s had a stroke and stopped speaking English, because Shiro is looking at him like he said he wanted to jump over the moon.</p><p class="western">“Spar?” Keith gestures to their usual mat, which is as usual, empty. He has to bypass half a dozen or so other people lingering near the edge though, all of them alphas, and all of them turn to watch him as he moves.</p><p class="western">Shiro follows him, and Keith is certain he hears a low-pitched snarl, but when he turns around in the centre of the mat, the other alphas are moving away, back to their own workout routines. Shiro is frowning.</p><p class="western">“Keith, I really don’t think this is wise.”</p><p class="western">“Why not?” Keith starts pacing out a circle, just as he normally does. Shiro echoes the movements automatically.</p><p class="western">“You should be resting.” Shiro doesn’t mention his upcoming heat, and Keith certainly isn’t going to. If he ignores his new designation long enough, maybe he can forget it ever happened. “You’re sore.”</p><p class="western">“I’m fine.”</p><p class="western">“Keith...” This time, Shiro’s tone betrays his irritation.</p><p class="western">“I’m not sick Shiro. I can still best you.”</p><p class="western">The alpha growls, and Keith rushes him.</p><p class="western">Shiro is strong, in terms of brute force he’s far stronger than Keith and they both know it, but Keith’s advantage has always been his speed. He’s flexible, bendy, and quick to duck under Shiro’s arm, jabbing him hard in the ribs with his elbow. He makes to spin on his heel, readying himself for the next lunge, but is yanked backwards by the force of Shiro grabbing the back of his shirt. He scrambles away, the hold isn’t designed to pin him and he backs off, watching Shiro warily. His alpha – no, his <em>friend </em>– looks disappointed with him. So Shiro doesn’t think he should be pushing himself, but what does he know?</p><p class="western">They pace, they turn. Shiro twists away from his next jab and Keith has to dance almost off the mat to avoid Shiro’s grapple. He’s sweating already, his skin feels hot, and every blast the air conditioner sends their way makes him shiver in relief. All his clothes feel heavy and hot, his legs feel tacky. He hates it.</p><p class="western">Shiro strikes out before Keith is ready for him, nearly gets him pinned. Keith rolls away, across the mat and hauls himself to his feet before he can give into his body’s urge to lie there and spread his legs. He rubs his wrists, using the sharp sting of pain to distract himself. The pads of his fingers come away with a smear of fresh blood.</p><p class="western">“You’re too close to your heat. You should be conserving your strength.”</p><p class="western">“No. I’m fine.” Keith hates the way the words sound – your heat – like this is something he actually has to take responsibility for. “I have another two days.”</p><p class="western">“A physician’s best estimate is not gospel, Keith.”</p><p class="western">“Oh, but yours is?” Keith snaps. “I told you, I feel fine.”</p><p class="western">They trade blows, but Shiro’s are soft, glancing, and he bats away Keith’s hands rather than using the openings the movements create to his own advantage. Keith shoves him with all the force he can muster, but it’s not enough to even make Shiro stagger and he hates the weak, leaden feeling which has sapped into his limbs.</p><p class="western">“Dammit! Fight me!”</p><p class="western">“Keith...”</p><p class="western">The stern tone makes him want to fold himself up against Shiro’s chest. Shiro is warm and safe and smells of butter and baked things. Pushing down the urge is easier than pushing Shiro over. He bounces away, moving swiftly, skipping around Shiro to get at his back.</p><p class="western">“Keith, stop this.”</p><p class="western">Shiro is forced to turn on the spot to keep him in view.</p><p class="western">“Keith, look around.”</p><p class="western">Keith spares the barest of glances to the rest of the gym, sure that Shiro is going to use his distraction to pin him. There are people watching. Near enough everyone in the gym has stopped what they were doing to stare at him – <em>him</em>, not Shiro – as he tries to force the alpha to spar with him properly. The range of scents is like an assault, too many to make sense of, but there is a dry hot scent like the desert right before a thunderstorm. The lust – some of it involuntary, lots of it unwanted – is palpable. Keith snaps his fangs at his friend.</p><p class="western">“Stop treating me like I’m breakable and fight.”</p><p class="western">“No.”</p><p class="western">Keith hisses. Shiro is angry with him and he hates that he’s forced the wedge between them, but he can’t stop himself; if he does, he’s going to dissolve into a pathetic heap of whimpering omega and <em>he will not do that</em>. He’s always made himself strong, there’s never been anyone to rely on so he learnt not to. This diagnosis isn’t going to change the lifetime habit of only really trusting himself.</p><p class="western">He goes for Shiro, feints left, and instead of swinging brings up one leg to aim a high kick at Shiro’s face. He is not expecting Shiro to grab him around the ankle and far from stopping his movement, tug him closer as he deflects the angle, bringing Keith careening toward him completely off balance. Shiro catches him, both arms tight around his torso like he’s expecting Keith to yield. Keith aches everywhere, he’s sweaty, all his clothes feel two sizes too small and his skin is on fire, but that doesn’t mean he’s done. And he’s certainly not helpless.</p><p class="western">He squirms, pulling away, and brings a knee up, trying to land a blow somewhere sensitive and painful. It’s a dirty trick, and Shiro growls at him, clearly having had enough of his attitude.</p><p class="western">“Keith...”</p><p class="western">“Fuck you.”</p><p class="western">Shiro’s expression shuts down, and his scent turns suddenly cold, clammy, floral in the worst way like a mouthful of soap. Keith has a sudden, terrible, vision of Shiro letting him go, turning his back and walking off. His alpha is leaving him, rejecting him. Shiro doesn’t want him, and why would he when Keith is broken and obstinate and doesn’t know how to be a decent omega? But instead of letting go, Shiro’s grip on him only tightens, prosthetic arm almost crushingly painful around his ribcage, and then Shiro’s other hand bypasses his face so close that his scent gland rubs against Keith’s nose. Keith shivers all the way down his spine. Shiro’s big hand closes tight around the back of his neck, a rough grasp, and then he shakes, just a little bit.</p><p class="western">The effect is instant.</p><p class="western">Shiro scruffs him, and Keith goes limp and boneless in his arms. He folds up onto himself, half draped over the alpha. He can’t move, none of his limbs appears to be responding to his brain, and the only noise which issues from his throat as Shiro fully scoops him up, cradling Keith against his chest with his other arm hooked under his knees, is the tiniest ghost of a trill.</p><p class="western">“Hush now, good boy.” Shiro’s voice is low, warm, whisper quiet. His lips are practically brushing his hair and he smells more delicious than ever. Keith wants to bury his nose in the curve of Shiro’s neck and never move again; but he can’t summon even the energy for that, not right now. “I’m going to take you home. Before you can do anything else… questionable.”</p><p class="western">Shiro turns away from the mat, and Keith is vaguely aware that people are watching, staring, but they avert their gaze when Shiro sees them. He knows that later this knowledge will haunt him and make him feel ashamed, but right now he doesn’t care, and he can’t do anything about it.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">The effect of the scruff begins to wear off as Keith feels Shiro’s warm, solid presence retreating. He whines. It sounds pathetic even in his own ears, the kind of noise he would never make, but he can’t stop himself.</p><p class="western">“Hey… I’m not going anywhere. I’m just gonna get you something to drink.”</p><p class="western">Keith wants to tell him he doesn’t need it, doesn’t care, that whatever the rasp in his throat is, it’s nothing compared to how much it’ll hurt if Shiro leaves him. But he can’t, his voice left him along with his strength, and when his alpha’s touch vanishes, he tries and fails to bite back a broken sob. But with Shiro no longer touching him, the last of the oxytocin and endorphins brought on by the scruff fade away. When Shiro returns with a bottle of isotonic blue sports drink from Keith’s recent purchases, it is to Keith sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest and his spine pressed against the wall of his quarters.</p><p class="western">Everything in him aches to go to Shiro and mould himself against his friend, because Shiro is strong and beautiful and the best fucking person he’s ever known. But Keith knows better than to trust himself right now, because his brain is not his own. Shiro still smells amazing, but he is frowning when he meets Keith’s eyes.</p><p class="western">“What happened?” Keith fights to keep his voice even, to not shout, to not cry. There are too many emotions inside him and none of them are good.</p><p class="western">“You’re in heat Keith, or very, very close to it. I don’t want you to get hurt, and you wouldn’t stop.”</p><p class="western">Keith knows, categorically, that if anyone else made a decision for him, that person would now be nursing a broken nose. For most of his life – from the time his father died to the time he turned eighteen – people made decisions for him, often without his input and usually without any thought for his personal comfort or desires. But Shiro has occupied a unique place within Keith’s life and his heart, almost from their first interaction, and he knows that Shiro genuinely did what was best for him. Because Shiro is decent and upstanding, and would never hurt him. But equally, an alpha like that would never need an omega like him. The distance between them feels like light-years, and when Shiro places the drink down beside the bed before stepping away again, Keith feels the rejection like a slap.</p><p class="western">His alpha doesn’t want to touch him. <em>No</em>, Shiro doesn’t want to touch him, and it’s becoming more and more obvious that Shiro really isn’t his anything at all. Keith grits his teeth, fangs nipping the edge of his tongue. He’ll be damned before he allows himself to cry in front of his al- in front of Shiro.</p><p class="western">“You can go.”</p><p class="western">It’s the last thing he wants, but he can’t trap Shiro here. Keith will ruin Shiro’s chances of attracting a proper mate, if he spends time with him when he’s like this. Shiro will smell like him and like heat and he might miss out on being with someone good, someone whole. After all, Keith is just a useless, broken thing. No alpha wants an infertile omega after all.</p><p class="western">His face is wet.</p><p class="western">Keith blinks, then drags his knuckles angrily across his eyes. Why the fuck is he crying? He doesn’t even want kids, has never wanted kids, and the very idea of his body changing to accommodate growing something inside it makes him want to be violently sick. But the idea of being rejected for it, on top of the myriad of reasons why Shiro should be with someone, <em>anyone</em>, else but him, makes his heart clench painfully.</p><p class="western">He reaches for the drinks bottle, but his hand is shaking so violently that he knocks it over. Only then does he realise that he woke up early, ran for hours, and hasn’t actually eaten anything today.</p><p class="western">“Keith?”</p><p class="western">Shiro is still there, standing just out of reach, polite concern written across his handsome features. His scent is all butter and honey and all at once Keith knows he will actually beg on hands and knees for this alpha not to abandon him, regardless of the cost to his dignity.</p><p class="western">He whimpers.</p><p class="western">“Help me.”</p><p class="western">“Oh, Keith.”</p><p class="western">The wail starts somewhere under his ribcage and loops and coils its way through his chest like a cold snake. By the time it gets to his lips his throat feels blocked, and the air is abrasive and nothing in the entire universe hurts as much as this does right now. Every thought is overtaken by a new one as soon as it resolves itself, and guilt piles on top of rejection and despair until the only distraction is the physical pain of his body. He digs his fingers into his ruined scent glands and wants to scream.</p><p class="western">And then Shiro is there.</p><p class="western">Shiro, big and warm and safe, gathering him up in his arms, settling onto his bed and pulling him into his lap. Keith is tucked against his chest, the top of his head under Shiro’s chin, and the arm wrapped around his torso is secure. Shiro’s other hand pets down across his hair, smoothing over the back of his neck and down his spine. Shiro’s heartbeat is loud against his ear, he wants to drown in that noise.</p><p class="western">Keith doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but the next time Shiro shifts and moves, Keith feels the soft tap of the drink bottle against the ball of his shoulder, and turns his head automatically to accept the offering. Shiro tilts the drink gently, giving him enough to slake his thirst in gradual gulps, but never uncomfortably enough to overflow his mouth and be cold and messy over his chin and neck. Keith drinks about half the bottle before making a quiet noise in his throat to signal that he needs no more.</p><p class="western">“Good boy.”</p><p class="western">The two words of praise are so warm and sweet, like hot jam sliding down the back of his throat, that he shivers with the sensation of it under his skin. And then he trills. He fucking trills, and that noise is familiar enough to bring him sharply, almost painfully, back to himself.</p><p class="western">He is sitting in Shiro’s lap. Shiro is hugging him, holding him, stroking his hair. And Keith couldn’t even drink properly… he’s less coordinated than a damn toddler. Far less, he realises as he shifts his hips, because his underwear is soaked, and not just with the oily texture from his scent glands. Even the fabric of his compression shorts is damp. What the fuck?</p><p class="western">“Hungry?”</p><p class="western">Keith’s stomach practically snarls in response, but Shiro’s soft chuckle is as abrasive as the industrial de-greaser he scrubbed his wrists with. Shiro sounds happy, he smells delighted, and he shouldn’t. Keith scrambles away from him, kneeing Shiro in the diaphragm as he does so, but his legs won’t carry him and he ends up on the floor in a heap. Shiro doesn’t even look annoyed. A little concerned – a tiny crease between his eyebrows that Keith instantly wants to smooth away with his fingertips – but not unhappy.</p><p class="western">“Could you… I dunno, not look at me right now? Please.”</p><p class="western">The frown deepens.</p><p class="western">“Fuck’s sake, Shiro. I’d actually still like to be able to look you in the eye after this without the knowledge that you have seen me looking like a sweaty mess. It’s not like I can get you to block your ears too. I’m gonna go take a shower.” There is a long beat of silence. “Fuck… I can’t stand up.”</p><p class="western">“Do you want me to help you?”</p><p class="western">He wants Shiro to touch him again more than he wants to keep breathing, but he manages to resist the urge to tell him so. He nods.</p><p class="western">Shiro loops his arm under Keith’s shoulder, pulling him hard up against his side, but let’s him have his autonomy as they stumble together to the bathroom. There are still blood drops in the sink. Shiro spies the green and orange tub of degreaser, and Keith sees the way he casually knocks it to the floor where it rolls into a corner. Keith uses his free hand to turn the dials of the shower, wondering how he’s going to wash himself, or even get out of his clothes.</p><p class="western">“Can we please never talk about any of this ever again?</p><p class="western">“Is that what you want?”</p><p class="western">“Shiro, I want things to go back to normal as soon as possible.” He sees Shiro open his mouth to respond and cuts him off quickly. “I swear to god if you say ‘this is the new normal’ I will fucking punch your fangs clean out of your head.” He huffs in frustration. His clothes are uncomfortable and tight and tacky, but this is definitely not how he imagined ever being naked with Shiro. “You should want to forget all this too, anyway.”</p><p class="western">“Keith?”</p><p class="western">“You can’t keep spending all your time hanging out with me, now that I’m an… an omega. People will get the wrong idea.”</p><p class="western">“And what idea would that be?”</p><p class="western">“Shiro… don’t be dense. People will think you’re ‘off the market’.” Keith hates himself the second he says the phrase, but he can’t take it back now.</p><p class="western">Shiro’s breath is hot and moist on the back of his neck.</p><p class="western">“And what if I wanted to be ‘off the market’?”</p><p class="western">Keith freezes. His blood is ice.</p><p class="western">“This is a fucking terrible time to make bad jokes Shiro.”</p><p class="western">“I’m not joking.”</p><p class="western">Keith entire world has reduced to the heat and firmness of Shiro’s hand holding him up, splayed over his ribcage.</p><p class="western">“This is a fucking terrible time to have this conversation Shiro.” Keith grabs for the edge of the shower stall and stands unaided for the first time. “I’m hungry. Go prepare snacks.”</p><p class="western">“Keith?”</p><p class="western">“I’ll be fine.” He has no idea how he’s going to make that statement true, but he will. He cannot deal with this right now. “Go make food <span>Takashi</span>.”</p><p class="western">To his relief, Shiro goes.</p><p class="western">Keith is left alone in his bathroom, his clothes too constricting, his skin too tight, and the sensation of what he suddenly <em>knows</em> is slick, creeping down the cleft of his arse and his inner thighs.</p><p class="western">He is completely fucked.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So Lys did an awesome mini comic of The Scruff, which is hilarious and wonderful and you should go look at it <a href="https://twitter.com/Kirishims_/status/1284638312393826305">here on twitter</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Slick</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Keith loses himself to his hindbrain completely.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all so much for all your lovely feedback! I love and adore all the comments. Y'all make me smile so hard my cheeks hurt.</p><p>For those of you (most) who don't know and are new to my writing, werewolves and animals shifters have been my original fiction stock in trade for many years, so I came at omegaverse very much from that viewpoint (c'mon, it was the fangs which drew me in, couldn't you tell?). Also, it's come up a couple of times in comments, but an alpha chuff sounds like the noise tigers make when the talk (look up "tiger chuff" on your video sharing site of choice to hear how Shiro sounds.</p><p>and without further adieu, back to our favourite boys...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The shower doesn’t help. The temperature is wrong whatever he sets it to, and the water pressure which is usually so relaxing does nothing to sooth the itch under his skin or the aching clench deep in his abdomen. He does not want to think about what that sensation is the prelude to, but his thoughts keep spiralling back to everything he’s ever heard when omegas discuss their heats. Very soon, he might not even be in control of what he wants, and that is equally as terrifying <span>of</span> a thought as what Shiro told him. Or nearly told him.</p><p class="western">The half-admitted idea that maybe Shiro<em> likes him back</em> should be in some way reassuring, but Keith can practically feel the way his omega hindbrain and his normal consciousness are prodding at the words Shiro said. If his alpha likes him, then why isn’t he here? Why is Keith having to expend so much energy just to stand upright, when all he wants is to <span>be safe and comfortable i</span>n his nest with his alpha? But the thought makes him scowl, because Shiro isn’t his – he hasn’t even made a nest because he doesn’t need one – and if Shiro really wanted him, what was stopping him from making a move before? Any time in the past two years would have been a better time than now.</p><p class="western">It’s this thought which propels him out of the shower and back into his room. He is naked and wet and choosing to ignore absolutely everything about himself from the waist down. If he even thinks about the dual sensation of <em>hard</em> and <em>slick</em> he’s going to lose the thread of what he wants to say really quickly. Water drips from the ends of his hair onto his shoulder and he flinches.</p><p class="western">“Why now?”</p><p class="western">“Keith...” Shiro’s staring at him like he’s just been asked to recite the Khinchin–Lévy constant to twenty decimal places – which Keith knows he can actually do because Shiro is a nerd – and the pile of blankets slips from the grasp of his prosthetic arm to the floor. “Are you alright?”</p><p class="western">“Clearly a fucking redundant question.” Keith can feel the energy which carried him here ebbing quickly from his limbs. He wants a nest, something to eat, and something between his thighs, in that order. He clamps down on the urge to whine. He will not beg for Shiro, Shiro isn’t his to beg for anyway. “Why now?” he repeats. “If you… like me, why wait until-” but the end of his sentence is cut off by everything in the room going fuzzy and sliding sideways.</p><p class="western">Shiro’s arms come up around him, warm and strong, and then there’s nothing he can do but hang on to the alpha as his legs give way completely. Shiro tucks him close against his chest and Keith automatically finds himself pressing his face into the curve of Shiro’s neck. Not directly against his scent glands but close, and the flood of contented buttery scent brings with it the knowledge that he is <em>safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protected </em>here with his alpha.</p><p class="western">“Is that really what you want to talk about now?” Shiro asks gently. And Keith knows – knows like he’s never known things before – that Shiro isn’t dismissing his concerns, just setting them aside for later. Keith stomach rumbles audibly, and when he shifts his feet, he feels the wet slide of slick between his thighs.</p><p class="western">“We should get you in your nest.”</p><p class="western">“I don’t have a nest,” Keith mutters grumpily.</p><p class="western">“Do you want to make one?”</p><p class="western">“No.” The lie is transparent, but Shiro doesn’t force him to confront it. Instead he turns to the fallen pile of soft fluffy things with a shrug.</p><p class="western">“We’ll just leave them there, if you want them later. Do you want to get dressed while I get the food?”</p><p class="western">Keith does not want to get dressed. He does not want Shiro to stop touching him, even for a moment. But Shiro isn’t his alpha, they aren’t bonded and Keith’s not wearing his marks, so Keith being naked must be making him uncomfortable. He forces himself to nod.</p><p class="western">Either he sits down or Shiro eases him to the bed, Keith isn’t quite sure, but Shiro turns away to collect the snacks which he’s already opened and arranged out on the only two plates Keith owns. By the time he turns back, Keith has managed to slide his legs into the soft, snug, red and black boxers. And he’s holding all the bedding in his arms. He doesn’t remember doing that.</p><p class="western">“Keith?”</p><p class="western">“I think… I think, I wanna make a nest after all?” He doesn’t know why he phrases it like a question, or why he shivers as he waits for Shiro to respond. He is in his quarters, and it’s his bed. He doesn’t need goddamn permission from his best friend, but here he is.</p><p class="western">Shiro smiles, and a low chuff reverberates in his throat.</p><p class="western">And Keith trills.</p><p class="western">He wants to hate it. He wants to hate the hot little coil of satisfaction which wraps around his chest and makes him proud for doing something to make his alpha happy, but he can’t. It’s all he wants, all he’s wanted for years, is for Shiro to look at him like that.</p><p class="western">Making a nest is weird. Keith watches himself as he does it, moving on instinct to gather his pillow, the new pillows, and the pair of throw cushions Shiro bought to make a bank at one end of the bed. He tosses the fluffiest of his blankets over it, creating a squishy mountain, then crawls into the space in order to heap and pinch the quilt and comforter into a ridge around himself. His one winter blanket is way too scratchy, but he doesn’t have anything else, so he lays it down even though he doesn’t really want it. The nest is a half cocoon, just about big enough for two people to be very close to each other. It feels empty with just him in it.</p><p class="western">He whines.</p><p class="western">He wants to reach out and swallow the noise because he cannot fucking <em>whine</em> at Shiro simply because the alpha is standing six feet away holding two plates, but he does. He goes to grab at his wrist again, because his skin itches and his glands everywhere are throbbing, but Keith isn’t the only one who is quick. Shiro closes the distance, sets the plates down, and wraps a big hand around his forearm all before Keith can complete the action. <span>A</span> growl dies in the back of Shiro’s throat, but his scent tastes like ash. He’s disappointed, Keith’s disappointed his alpha. Of fucking course he did, because he’s a useless excuse for an omega. He’s broken and difficult, and doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near Shiro, let alone wear his marks.</p><p class="western">“<em>Stop</em>.” The single word forces him to look up and meet the alpha’s eyes. “No more hurting yourself, and no more overthinking things either.” Shiro angles his head, very slightly, and Keith can’t help but stare at his neck – the long unbroken line of muscle and smooth skin – which is already beginning to smell warm and salty-sweet once more. “I’m going to take care of you. Are you going to let me?”</p><p class="western">“Yes.”</p><p class="western">Keith doesn’t move as Shiro climbs into his nest, turning in the small space to sit behind him, one long leg bent up on either side, bracketing Keith with his thighs. Only as he shifts back does Keith realise that Shiro changed clothes whilst he was in the shower. He’'s dressed in a pair of sweatpants far too large for Keith that ended up in his laundry after he hadn’t been concentrating on the machines one time and forgot to return, and… the hoodie from the laundry basket.</p><p class="western">Fuck.</p><p class="western">There is absolutely no way Shiro hasn’t noticed the stains or the smell on it, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Keith feels himself blush, his ears hot enough that they’ve probably turned crimson. Shiro leans forward, reaching past him for the plates of snacks, bringing his broad chest flush against Keith’s back and shoulders. Keith can’t stop the chirrup which springs out of him at the contact. Shiro’s prosthetic arm – the exoskin just as warm as the rest of him if not quite as soft – comes up across his chest and Keith finds himself effectively pinned against his friend’s sternum. He wriggles, but Shiro’s breath ghosts over the back of his neck, and he stops.</p><p class="western">“You should eat something, Keith.”</p><p class="western">For two heartbeats, Keith is crushingly disappointed that Shiro didn’t called him something else, something <em>more</em>, but he snaps at his hindbrain for being so pathetic. Shiro is only here because Keith has made such a monumental failure of looking after himself, despite being a whole grown up person. He is Head of the Flight Mechanics department, but he can’t even prep correctly for his own damn heat. Shiro clears his throat, and Keith opens his mouth before he even registers that Shiro is holding a bite sized cracker loaded with dip in front of him. He eats it, because doing so is easier than arguing, and the moment his lips close around the snack Shiro’s scent goes golden with buttery satisfaction.</p><p class="western">Shiro likes that Keith had eaten the food. Really likes it. Fuck, they <span>are</span> going to have to have a conversation about everything Shiro had said before Keith got into the shower. But when he opens his mouth again there is a half strawberry waiting between Shiro’s fingers, and Keith simply eats that too. By the time the first plate is cleared, Keith is making a soft, involuntary trill in between each bite of assorted snacks, and Shiro had apparently been studying the way he eats long enough to know exactly when to offer something sweet or wet versus something savoury and crisp.</p><p class="western">It is Shiro’s stomach which rumbles as he reaches for a piece of jerky, and Keith frowns.</p><p class="western">“You have to eat too,” he manages before taking the jerky from Shiro’s fingers with his teeth. He half turns in his friend’s lap and suddenly becomes aware of two very important things. Firstly, Shiro’s wrist glands are a mere inch away from his face and he smells divine. And secondly, the movement of his hip brings him into contact with Shiro’s groin, and the alpha is hard beneath the layer of his sweats.</p><p class="western">He nearly trills. He nearly chokes on the jerky he’s chewing to stop himself from saying anything. He nearly presses into the contact – because how can he not? But what he does do, is freeze at the sensation of a hot, wet gush of slick accompanied by an aching clench of internal muscles he doubts he knows the correct names for. He is suddenly, incredibly grateful for the special underwear which stops him from ruining the nest. He doubts the amount of slick is anywhere near as much as it feels like, but he isn’t used to there being any natural moisture trickling down his perineum, and he wants to curl up into a ball and hang his head in shame.</p><p class="western">“OK, I’ll eat too.” Shiro makes no move to accompany the statement, but Keith’s already reaching for the plate of snacks, selecting another strawberry to bring up to Shiro’s lips. Shiro hasn’t brought out any of the things only Keith likes yet, but then, he’s only hungry, not ravenous. Maybe that comes later. “Thank you.”</p><p class="western">Keith watches, fascinated beyond reason, as his alpha- no Shiro, takes the strawberry from his fingertips with his super white, perfect teeth, and slices it in a very deliberate manner with his fangs. Keith catches himself wondering what it’ll feel like to have those twelve sharp points digging into his skin, how big and obvious Shiro’s bite marks will be wherever he leaves them, how dark his claim will look against Keith’s skin. Then he watches Shiro’s lips, pale pink and straight at the edges, plush looking and soft in the centre, as the tip of his tongue drags over them before he swallows. Keith still hasn’t moved his hand and Shiro angles his head a fraction, nearly scenting over his ruined wrist gland. The sight of such cracked and broken skin so close to something so perfect makes Keith yank his arm away with a shudder.</p><p class="western">“You shouldn’t want to be here with me.”</p><p class="western">“But I do.”</p><p class="western">Keith digs down into the obstinate, hard headed attitude he is so well known for, the one which means he has only half a handful of acquaintances and only one real friend. The friend whose lap he is currently almost sitting in.</p><p class="western">“I thought you were supposed to be smart?”</p><p class="western">“Not compared to you Keith. Only one of us can actually design a split fuel engine system without it accidentally creating a rift in the fabric of reality.”</p><p class="western">“It’s really not that hard to coalesce two incompatible energy sources, as long as you use a binding medium which is-” Keith snaps his mouth shut as he realises he’s been effectively sent off on a tangent. “Shiro...”</p><p class="western">“Are you still hungry?”</p><p class="western">“Not so much.”</p><p class="western">Shiro catches his hand and runs his fingers across Keith’s palm. The motion is a soft echo of the kind of friendly grasp which could turn into a totally platonic hug, the kind that Shiro’s been giving him for years. But this – with Shiro’s eyes feather soft and his scent making heat pool in Keith’s belly – this is anything but platonic.</p><p class="western">“Let me look after this too?”</p><p class="western">That is going to require Keith admitting to the scale of his fuck up. But he nods.</p><p class="western">Even Shiro is not organised enough to have shifted medical supplies over to be within arms-reach of the bed, and Keith shivers when his alpha gets up and steps away. He doesn’t whine or whimper though, and he counts it as a small victory.</p><p class="western">“Tell me why,” Keith demands as Shiro returns to the nest and takes up his previous position. “Why now? It’s just-” He hates what the truth is going to be, but he doesn’t actually want to accuse Shiro and put words in his mouth. “<em>Is</em> it just because I’m an omega now? Because I’m not a proper omega Shiro, I’m sterile and clearly useless at this whol-”</p><p class="western">Shiro places his huge, warm hand against the back of Keith’s neck. Again, it is the echo of a gesture Shiro has used on him in public a hundred times before, and achingly similar to the scruffing the alpha gave him earlier. But this time Shiro’s weight just rests there and Keith feels that same rush of <em>safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protected,</em> and it silences him instantly.</p><p class="western">“You are not broken and you’re not useless. Your body is asking you to do a dozen things all at once, none of which you’ve ever had to consider before. You’re allowed to be confused, or scared, or get things wrong.” Shiro takes a deep breath, and Keith finds himself copying the motion automatically. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Shiro is famous for his patience, and Keith could do with some of that right now. “You think any teenager first presenting has a perfect heat or rut? Ha! Mostly we wish for ‘not terrible’ and sometimes it works out ‘OK’. Now, let me take care of you and I’ll answer your question, but no more putting yourself down. You’re so good at that.”</p><p class="western"><a id="__DdeLink__2417_473839144" name="__DdeLink__2417_473839144"></a> Keith opens his mouth to say something else self-deprecating, because he’s not special, not important, and no one has ever thought so in his life. None of the temporary foster parents – some of whom were so temporary Keith barely remembers them past blurs of colour and sound – none of the social workers, no one at any of his schools – peer or teacher – ever thought he was worth any effort. He’s fought for everything he’s got, all by himself. But his alpha- no, Shiro is telling him he’s worth something, and he wants Shiro to be happy.</p><p class="western">“Better. Wrist please.”</p><p class="western">Shiro uses the forefinger of his human hand to dab white antiseptic repair cream over the broken skin of his wrist gland, each touch incredibly careful, like Keith is made of glass. He has procured Keith’s first aid kit from under the sink, and Keith sits patiently as a cotton pad is applied to his skin before Shiro begins to wrap a light gauze bandage around his bony wrist. Only as he starts on the second one, does Keith realise this means that Shiro won’t be able to scent him there, and the thought makes him want to cry.</p><p class="western">“I’ve liked you for ages,” Shiro begins. “Fuck, that makes me sound like a teenager again. I know that I far more than <em>like</em> you. I’m sure it started out a crush, but I don’t remember any more, because I’ve been in love with you for more than a year.”</p><p class="western">“What?!”</p><p class="western">“Shh… you were <span>going to</span> listen, remember?” Shiro rumbles against his spine, and Keith leans back into his embrace, bandaged wrist lying in his lap. His dick twitches against it unhelpfully.</p><p class="western">“So, the first time anyone in Command spoke to me about you – like just after we had started having lunch together regularly – I had it impressed upon me how rare it was for alpha-beta pairings to last and that I should concentrate on my career. That’s always code for ‘find a nice omega and settle down and stick to teaching’. I hate that I can’t get cleared for missions again with this arm, even though it’s never malfunctioned once. Just because one guy over in central Europe had issues with the nanobots in his leg prothesis, they think it could happen to anyone….”</p><p class="western">Keith can’t see Shiro roll his eyes, but he knows his friend too well.</p><p class="western">“And I was scared for you. It was… implied that they’d transfer you away if you were too much of a distraction. I’d do anything to keep you safe Keith, even it meant I had to be unhappy.”</p><p class="western">Keith half turns again in Shiro’s lap as the end of his second bandage is pinned in place. His cheek slides over Shiro’s broad chest, the deep swell of his pecs beneath the hoodie which smells of them both, and Keith wriggles his hips to dispel the feeling of his slick.</p><p class="western">“Then you filed your first patent for those fancy spark plugs which reduce misfires by like, <em>twenty-three percent</em> and use half as much energy to start up, and Command realised how useful you were. How gifted.” Shiro strokes a hand through Keith’s hair as he speaks, and though Keith really wants to look at him, he wants to stay with Shiro’s thudding heart beat and rumbling voice pressed against his ear even more. “My rut was coming up, and HR felt the need to have an actual fucking meeting – official memo and everything – about how important it was for alphas to have ‘suitable rut partners’. They never mentioned me specifically, or you, but it was so fucking transparent. They didn’t want me messing around with you and you leaving when it didn’t work out.”</p><p class="western">Shiro’s tone is bitter, though his scent is still warm and soft, and Keith knows the alpha’s anger isn’t directed toward him. Society seems to think an alpha in rut can only ever be happy with an omega, and that no other relationship can last. But if omegas are more than just their instincts, then surely alphas are too, and Keith hates that there are still people around who seem to think that an alpha who doesn’t want to breed is strange and wrong. He hates more that his own brain is trying to tell him that he worthless for the exact same reason, so Shiro can’t really want him.</p><p class="western">“So yeah… I didn’t tell you all the things I wanted. Probably would have never told you if you hadn’t presented as an omega. I’m so sorry Keith. I know it’s not fair of me, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you needing to go to someone else instead. Someone I didn’t know if you could trust to look after you. We can just go back to being friends after this.”</p><p class="western">That doesn’t sound right.</p><p class="western">“I don’t want to put any pressure on you. But Command can’t come after you about this now. And I love you.”</p><p class="western">Keith squirms in Shiro’s lap, tilting his chin up to nose along the column of Shiro’s throat, seeking out the source of his magnificent scent. His underwear feels too tight and his body feel too empty. Shiro can fix that.</p><p class="western">“I love you, Keith.” Shiro’s voice is small, whisper soft, lips moving against his hair. “I don’t want anyone else to have you. I want you to be mine.”</p><p class="western">Keith doesn’t really understand what Shiro’s talking about any more, but that last bit sounds good.</p><p class="western">“’m yours,” he mumbles against the thick fabric of the hoodie which smells like them both. He likes it, evidence that they’re together. They should be together always.</p><p class="western">“Keith?”</p><p class="western">Keith turns fully in his lap now, because being pressed up against his alpha is good, but he wants to be pressed up against Shiro everywhere. Bits of him ache, but he lifts one knee and moves to straddle one of Shiro’s thighs. He loves Shiro’s thighs. The thick muscle pressing up against his taint makes him moan softly.</p><p class="western">“I’m yours Takashi,” he manages, because his alpha is still waiting for an answer. “I love you.”</p><p class="western">There is a long moment of silence, broken only by Keith’s ragged breathing and little grunts as he rolls his hips down onto Shiro’s broad thigh. He wants more.</p><p class="western">“Oh, Keith...”</p><p class="western">Keith nuzzles into the crook of his alpha’s neck, but Shiro doesn’t bring his head down to the right angle for scenting, and Keith whines. Words are hard, but he pulls out the only ones he still knows.</p><p class="western">“Want. Alpha.”</p><p class="western">Shiro stiffens under his hands. Keith doesn’t mind so much, Shiro’s abs are a delight regardless.</p><p class="western">“Keith? Keith, look at me.”</p><p class="western">It’s hard to sit back and move his face away now that he’s so close to Shiro’s scent, but his alpha wants him to do something, and Keith wants him to be happy. He smiles as he looks at Shiro: his vision is faintly blurred around the edges. Shiro cups his chin, fingers warm and soft, and Keith tries to lick them. Shiro makes a slightly distressed noise, but Keith really wants something in his mouth.</p><p class="western">“Oh baby...” Shiro sounds mournful, but he smells pleased, hot and salty like buttered toast, and his fingers are still so close to Keith’s lips. “Heat’s got you now. Your eyes are black.”</p><p class="western">“Shhhiirrooo….”</p><p class="western">Being so far from Shiro is starting to take its toll. There’s just the heat and firmness of Shiro’s thigh between his legs and he still hurts inside. He rocks his hips, grinding down against the firm muscle, rutting against his abs. It’s good, but it’s not enough. He whimpers.</p><p class="western">“Oh, sweet boy.” Shiro prosthetic fingers card through his hair, pulling Keith’s face into his chest once more. Keith groans, seeking out Shiro’s skin and his delicious scent. The pet name falling from his alpha’s lips is like a balm over the itch of his scent glands and the throb between his thighs, but the effects don’t last.</p><p class="western">“Need-” Keith doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants. “Need...”</p><p class="western">He does know, but the words are too shameful. Even with his hindbrain completely in the driver’s seat, he can’t say them to the alpha who still doesn’t want him enough to claim him. All words seem like a lot of effort right now. He whimpers. He arches his back, pressing himself into Shiro’s chest, he aches deep inside, and his ass is wet with slick. He wants.</p><p class="western">“Need you, alpha...”</p><p class="western">Shiro’s arms are tight around him, but it’s not the kind of pressure Keith needs.</p><p class="western">“Oh baby… Keith. No sweetie, we can’t.” Shiro’s voice is low and thin. Keith rocks into the crease of his hip. It’s good friction, but it’s not enough. “It would be wrong, you can’t...” His scent is struck through with hot chilli notes and a salt tang which makes Keith’s mouth water. “Fuck. You can’t consent like this- and I’m not going to be that guy. I love you too much to do that.”</p><p class="western">Keith whines again. All the words are too difficult now. His tongue is heavy and his wrists hurt. His neck itches and his loins throb and he wants more of Shiro to be touching him. All the clothes are too many and too tight. He rolls his crotch down harder into Shiro’s thigh, but Shiro’s grip around him is too <span>secure</span> to let him complete to motion. He gnashes his teeth in pained frustration.</p><p class="western">“Hey… hey now. Hush.” Shiro’s hands slides around his ribs, big palms moving to hold him up, guide him as he ruts helplessly. The change in position is good, and Keith’s legs slip to seat himself more firmly on Shiro’s thigh. His forehead rests against Shiro’s sternum. “Ride it out baby. You’re doing great.”</p><p class="western">The praise makes something inside him sparkle, his scent going all gold and rich like <span>caramel and cardamom.</span> And Shiro notices. His alpha makes a deep, pleased rumble in his chest.</p><p class="western">“Yeah, that’s my boy. Well done, Keith… just hold tight to me.”</p><p class="western">Shiro cups his skull, cradling the back of his head like he’s precious. He tucks Keith’s face into the curve of his neck, and Keith whines and laps at his skin. He’s so close, but still not close enough. His mouth is empty, his hole is empty. Everywhere empty. He must have spoken, because Shiro’s hand is coming up to his face, wrist tilted, fingers curled at the ready. Keith wastes no time in swallowing them down, his nose mushed right up against Shiro’s wrist gland.</p><p class="western">It’s messy and he doesn’t care. Shiro’s skin is hot against his own, and everything in their mingled scents tells Keith that this is good and right. He’s with his alpha in his nest. Shiro will keep him <em>safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protected </em>and there’s nowhere Keith would rather be. He mouths around the two thick fingers parting his lips, lapping his tongue over them, swallowing thickly as he tries to take Shiro deeper. It doesn’t matter that it’s only fingers, because he wants to be full of Shiro. He grunts and drools as he rocks in Shiro’s lap, his brain melting into mush as Shiro’s free hand comes to rest in the small of his back, encouraging him to rut harder.</p><p class="western">“Such a good boy. So pretty. So hot for me baby.”</p><p class="western">His alpha’s possessive tone makes him want to trill, but the sound is muffled with his mouth so full. He feels so empty still, and so wet. The scent of his slick permeates the room with the soft, fresh notes of aloe vera, and he whimpers because it’s <em>so much</em>. But Shiro chuffs happily again, his chest rumbling against Keith’s, and the hand at his lower back scoots him forward so that his leaking erection is pinned flush between their bodies.</p><p class="western">“You gonna show me how good you are, right Keith? A perfect little omega… Mmmm. <em>My</em> perfect omega.”</p><p class="western">Keith keens around his fingers. He is so hot everywhere; his brain is mush. He wants Shiro and nothing else. His alpha hooks the fingers in his mouth, pressing down on his tongue, hanging his jaw open and Keith just can’t hold on. He shakes and shudders in Shiro’s lap, every muscle tense as his orgasm floods through him.</p><p class="western">“Oh, good boy. That’s it, Keith. You’re doing so well baby. Keep going.”</p><p class="western">Shiro’s voice in his ear is inseparable from the alpha’s scent filling his nostrils, and though he feels helpless against the waves of pleasure and heat which pulse like a tide, he rocks his hips and rides Shiro’s thigh just like his alpha wants him to. His orgasm seems to peak again and again, and now he needs to breathe way more than he needs to feel full, but Shiro’s fingers are only tracing his lips and the points of his fangs as he pants.</p><p class="western">“You’re so beautiful. You did it baby, well done.”</p><p class="western">Words are filtering through his frontal cortex now with meaning attached to them, and Keith feels his cheeks heat with the sweet things spilling so effortlessly from Shiro’s lips. Shiro, the most gifted pilot of his generation and the pride of the Garrison, telling Keith he’s beautiful like it isn’t destroying Keith’s entire universe. He ducks his head, breaking the contact with Shiro’s spit shiny fingers, and screws his eyes shut at the quick hit of shame that overcomes him when he moves.</p><p class="western">He just came in his underwear whilst riding his best friend’s thigh and sucking his fingers. There’s no coming back from this, and Keith knows whatever was left of their friendship is in tatters. Shiro’s never going to want to speak to him ever again after this. He tries to pull away, but the sensation of sodden fabric between his legs moves with him and Keith fights the urge to cry as he realises how ruined his underwear is and how much of a mess he’s made. The room is full of the smell of it, like Keith just sliced open a succulent and squeezed out every drop of juice and pulp to take a bath in it. He snaps his fangs on the whine building in his throat.</p><p class="western">“Hey now. Stop that.” Shiro’s voice is calm and firm, unyielding like the muscles beneath him, but still careful, like the hands resting on his hips. The size of Shiro’s hands on his hips is something else Keith <span><em>cannot</em></span> concentrate on.</p><p class="western">“I didn’t say anything.”</p><p class="western">“You didn’t have to. I can smell you Keith, stop being embarrassed.”</p><p class="western">Keith wants to break away from Shiro. Run to the bathroom, and scrub every inch of his skin with the industrial degreasing gel until he’s no longer capable of producing slick, but Shiro hasn’t let him go. And anyway, his limbs feel like lead. His eyelids too. The fog might have lifted from his mind, but his vision is still soft-focus.</p><p class="western">“I’m sorry.”</p><p class="western">“Why? I’m not.”</p><p class="western">“Shiro.”</p><p class="western">The alpha arches a dark eyebrow at him, waiting.</p><p class="western">“You can’t just say that.”</p><p class="western">But Shiro doesn’t look embarrassed, doesn’t smell anything other than utterly perfect and completely onboard with what’s just happened between them, and Keith is tired. He doesn’t want to argue with his friend.</p><p class="western">Because that’s all Shiro is. Shiro is still his friend, not his alpha, and when this nightmare is over, Keith will be lucky if their paths ever cross again.</p><p class="western">“Tired.”</p><p class="western">“No doubt. Here, have a little drink for me. OK, baby?”</p><p class="western">“Hmmmm...”</p><p class="western">“Open up.”</p><p class="western">Shiro taps his lips with a straw, and Keith can’t be bothered to resist. He sucks down half an electrolyte heavy sports drink – the green flavour, tangy – and slumps into the bank of cushions as his eyes slide close. He is disgusting, sweaty and he knows not cleaning up the fact he came in his boxers is going to haunt him, but he can’t move. When Shiro shuffles down to lie next to him, Keith huffs at the distance between them. Without a sound, Shiro adjusts himself, tucking his body around Keith in the nest, arm keeping him close. Keith nuzzling into his neck, wanting his scent glands and sighs in relief as the scent of his alpha washes over him.</p><p class="western">He is <em>safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protected.</em> He can sleep now.</p><p class="western">Shiro strokes his hair.</p><p class="western">“There’s my guy. Sleep now Keith.”</p><p class="western">And Keith trills.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Knot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which things don't necessarily get any better...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I got the feeling from most of the comments on the last chapter that you guys thought the angst was over? I mean... brace yourselves. If you've not read a long-work from me before, you won't know there's another drop, because this is me, there's always something else. I'm not sorry.</p><p>Also, the last chapter is going to contain the new art of matching alpha Shiro i commissioned from <a href="https://twitter.com/babushkaHiHi">Babushka HiHi</a>, it looks amazing and I hope you guys are going to love him like I do.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">“I’m not hungry.”</p><p class="western">“You will be.” Shiro’s tone is still measured and calm, but Keith is seized by the desire to throw the proffered snacks back in his face, just to get a rise out of him. Shiro is famed for his patience, but Keith has seen him jump his hoverbike off a cliff and he knows it’s all a carefully maintained facade. “Please, Keith.”</p><p class="western">Keith snatches the plate of cut fruit, stabs a slice of star-fruit and eats it like he has a grudge against it. He frowns. He doesn’t remember buying star-fruit when they went shopping. He eats it anyway, because he can feel the prickling heat building once more across his skin. His hindbrain is becoming more and more vocal in its desire for him to simply crawl into Shiro’s lap once more.</p><p class="western">“You don’t have to do this.”</p><p class="western">“Look after you? Keith please… of course I do.”</p><p class="western">Keith does not growl. He doesn’t want to give Shiro another brick to cement into the wall of ‘Keith can’t look after himself’. His stomach rumbles as he eats, and for a moment he misses the soft, hazy way it was before when Shiro fed him and chuffed happily when Keith let him. He could get back there, but he won’t let himself. Since he woke up, he’s been consumed with sharp guilt and chilled disgust, and every time he thinks about reaching for Shiro, he can sense the alpha’s unease. Something is not right between them, and Keith doesn’t know how to fix it.</p><p class="western">“I bet you can’t wait to get out of here.”</p><p class="western">“Keith!”</p><p class="western">Shiro’s scent goes hard and cold, like his friend has suddenly been replaced with a block of ice, and Shiro stares at him, pain written obviously across his face. Keith whines instantly, and the muscles within him which still ache and clamp around nothing, twist. So hard that for a moment he thinks he might throw up.</p><p class="western">“Baby… please. Come here.”</p><p class="western">It’s impossible to resist Shiro’s tone, or the disappointment and longing in his grey eyes. But Keith knows that’s not the heat; it would be impossible for him to say no to Shiro anyway, it always is. He crawls across the nest and into Shiro’s lap, tucking himself tight under the big alpha’s chin. He wants to slip his hands under Shiro’s hoodie and press his hands against his skin, but he can smell that Shiro is saddened by him.</p><p class="western">Keith whines again. He pushed his alpha- no, Shiro, too hard. No wonder he hasn’t earned mating marks yet.</p><p class="western">“I’m sorry.”</p><p class="western">“I’m not mad at you. Hush, I’m not.” Shiro strokes his hair, which Keith thinks is both sweet and disgusting because his hair has got to be a sweaty mess right now, and Keith gets trapped listening to his heart beat whilst he talks. “You missed the bit earlier when I told you I loved you and that I don’t want you to be anyone else's. After this is over, we’ll have a proper conversation about everything – I promise – but for now you just need to let me help you.”</p><p class="western">“OK.”</p><p class="western">“Alright then. So, what do you need, Keith?”</p><p class="western">Keith mumbles into the collar of Shiro’s hoodie.</p><p class="western">“What was that, beautiful?”</p><p class="western">Keith feel the tips of his ears burn with the casually devastating sweetness of Shiro’s pet names.</p><p class="western">“I want to be clean. Shower.”</p><p class="western">“Can you stand?” There’s no judgement in Shiro’s tone at all, just softness and warmth. He’s better than any blanket.</p><p class="western">“No,” Keith admits grudgingly.</p><p class="western">“OK. I’m going to carry you.”</p><p class="western">“But you’ll get all wet.”</p><p class="western">“So, I’ll get wet. No big deal. Ready?”</p><p class="western">Keith isn’t proud of the way he loops his arms tight around Shiro’s neck. His friend scoops him up with one arm under his knees and the other round his back, and stands in one fluid movement as though Keith weighs nothing at all. Compared with Shiro's muscular bulk, he probably doesn’t, but he’s never felt this helpless before when they’ve sparred in the gym or wrestled good naturedly whilst stargazing.</p><p class="western">True to form, Shiro steps into the tiny shower with him, whereupon they are both instantly soaked. Keith realises that – dependency and shattered feelings aside – this was a terrible idea from any practical point of view. Shiro holds him up whilst Keith shuffles out of his underwear, leaving <span>it</span> on the floor because there isn’t space to bend down with Shiro filling every other cubic inch of the shower compartment. Somehow Keith manages to wrangle his dexterity into line long enough to get Shiro out of his hoodie. It is not how he has ever envisaged getting his best friend shirtless while in close contact. When Keith shudders, Shiro turns off the water and wraps each of them in a towel – the last two Keith has – and keeps him tucked close to his chest, as their hair drips onto bare skin.</p><p class="western">Standing chest to chest with Shiro is so good, and Keith can feel every place where their skin touches. It’s both super-heated and calming; like he’s being pulled out of his body and having his rough edges smoothed over all at once. Shiro’s chest rumbles, and Keith trills. Shiro chuffs, and Keith wishes it could always be this easy.</p><p class="western">“I have to use the bathroom.”</p><p class="western">“OK.” Shiro responds, not moving.</p><p class="western">“Are you going to leave?”</p><p class="western">“Do you want me to?”</p><p class="western">The idea of Shiro not touching him is horrifying. Keith can’t control his shudder.</p><p class="western">“Just- don’t look.”</p><p class="western">“Keith...” Shiro lays a hand against his chest and puts on a dismayed expression. “I am a gentleman.”</p><p class="western">“Ha! You can apparently get drunk off two shots of tequila, after winning a hotdog eating contest. You’re no gentleman.”</p><p class="western">“It was a weird weekend,” Shiro replies with a frown. “If I remember correctly, you ordered the <em>Bartender’s Special </em>for breakfast and were still drunk at ten o’clock the next morning.”</p><p class="western">“It was your idea to celebrate.” Keith elbows his friend sharply in the ribs, and finishes up. Apart from the fact they are both only wearing towels – and Shiro’s isn’t doing much to hide his physique – it’s so much like any other casual conversation they’ve ever had. Shiro, ever observant – notices his hesitation.</p><p class="western">“You want to get dressed again?”</p><p class="western">He doesn’t, but-</p><p class="western">“I don’t wanna ruin the nest.”</p><p class="western">“OK.”</p><p class="western">And just like that, it’s easy. Shiro helps him back to the nest, finds the package <span>with</span> his new underwear, takes one out, smoothing out the folded creases as he begins to slip Keith’s feet and ankles through the leg holes. There’s no guile in him, no heat, and Keith wants to cry with relief and frustration as he takes over and settles the waistband over his hips before shucking off his towel. He wants to believe Shiro, so much he wants to believe him, but Shiro is only mortal too: he must have flaws. He’s an alpha, there’s no way his biology isn’t doing a number on him too, with a needy first-time omega practically slicking in his lap.</p><p class="western">“Do you want me to get dressed?”</p><p class="western">Categorically, he does not. But Keith can’t answer him. Instead, he rolls over, pushing his face into the softness of the nest which smells like them both. It’s a good scent, warm like the desert, soft like the rain, sweet and spicy like all their favourite foods. Keith knows that chemically, they work well together. But that can’t be all this is. He groans.</p><p class="western">“Keith?” But for the first time, Shiro sounds something other than well balanced and in control. He sounds like a rope on the verging of snapping in two.</p><p class="western">Keith grits his fangs in frustration, though he doesn’t bite his lip this time, and he rolls his shoulders with the uncomfortable prickle of not touching his alpha. What is Shiro waiting for? Keith wants him, and Shiro’s place is here with him in their nest. When the alpha’s gently textured prosthetic fingers stroke tentatively at the thin skin of his ankle, Keith keens and jerks his hips to present himself fully. He’s so hot, and he feels so empty.</p><p class="western">“Oh, fuck baby…” Shiro’s words shake, but his scent is hot and sweet like maple syrup on pancakes. “<em>Stars...</em> Keith! What are you trying to do to me? Oh, god.”</p><p class="western">“Shirooo…” Keith whines. He shouldn’t still be expected to use words. “Need you.”</p><p class="western">“Y-yeah… I see that.” The bed beside him dips, and Keith twists to press his lips against Shiro’s thigh, just above his knee. The contact makes him shiver, slick dripping between his thighs. “Hey Keith, sit up a second. Come be here with me.”</p><p class="western">The opportunity to scent Shiro is not one to be passed up, and Keith scrambles upright. The change in position brings with it a rush of blood back to the rest of his body, and clarity makes him blink back the haze threatening to overtake his vision.</p><p class="western">“Oh good, you’re still in there.” Shiro sounds genuinely relieved, but his big hand still comes up to cup Keith’s jaw, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone, finger tracing the curve of his ear. “I need you to tell me what you want, Keith. Now, whilst you actually can.”</p><p class="western">“W-what?” The idea of actually saying <em>anything</em> to Shiro about the things his body wants is mortifying, especially with the knowledge that he was just fucking <em>presenting himself</em> to his alpha minutes previously. He bites his lip. “I... can’t-!”</p><p class="western">“Oh, hey, sweet boy, no.” Shiro gathers him up into his arms immediately, but he doesn’t let Keith press against his neck. “Stay with me now. Breathe.”</p><p class="western">He copies Shiro, repeating several times the familiar in-hold-out breathing pattern Shiro uses during his cool down stretches after workouts. It lessens the tension through his core, but his insides still ache. He still feels empty.</p><p class="western">“I want...”</p><p class="western">“Yes?”</p><p class="western">Keith shakes in his lap. Shiro is so close, but the distance between them is too great. Any distance is too great. Shiro senses his distress, and the pad of his thumb traces Keith’s lips.</p><p class="western">“Can I kiss you?”</p><p class="western">“Yes. Yes, please… anything. Alpha-!”</p><p class="western">“Keith- whoa there, sweetheart.” Shiro’s hands are firm, his eyes dark, but not hard. Shiro wants him too. “Keith, you still in there?”</p><p class="western">Keith slumps sullenly back into his lap. He can claw back consciousness from his hindbrain, but it’s getting harder every time. His body feels achy and uncomfortable, his skin is too tight and too hot. He feels empty, and it hurts.</p><p class="western">“It hurts?” Shiro asks. Keith nods, realising he must have been speaking out loud.</p><p class="western">“I need you.” Keith swallows his shame, it’s too late for that. Shiro already know the worst thing about him and he’s still here. “I need your knot.”</p><p class="western">“Oh baby...” Shiro does not sound lust drunk and pleased like he should, and Keith squirms. He hates the wet feeling between his cheeks, the scent of aloe permeating the room. If he was plugged up with something it would be better. Something to stroke the clenching muscles inside him that won’t let him be comfortable even in sleep. “I can’t give you that.”</p><p class="western">The words are like a rockfall, and Keith can’t control the plaintive whine which escapes him, as the weight of rejection comes rushing down to crush him.</p><p class="western">“No… beautiful, I want to. So much. But I can’t do that to you in your heat. Not for the first time.”</p><p class="western">“But-” every word is a struggle now. “But I said you could.”</p><p class="western">“And you’re in heat. You’re doing so well baby, so well. Such a good boy.” The praise is heady. “But you’re not really able to consent. Not under the influence of heat. You’re allowed to change your mind.”</p><p class="western">“Don’t wanna. It’s you. Always need you.”</p><p class="western">“My perfect boy… whole sentences. I’m so proud of you.”</p><p class="western">Keith pants in the shape of a smile. He needs something inside him, the clamping ache is worse the longer he waits. He can already feel the heat radiating off his skin and knows that this time, scenting and rutting isn’t going to be enough. Shiro leans to one side and reaches down beside the bed for something on the floor. The object in his hand is not what Keith expected to see.</p><p class="western">“A knotting toy?” It is pink, very pink, with bronze accents at the base, and it fills Shiro’s broad palm and then some. <span>Keith</span> definitely did not buy that. The shock yanks him from the hazy brain space of the approaching wave of heat. “Where the fuck did you get that?”</p><p class="western">“I had a friend go pick it up from my quarters whilst you were sleeping. It’s new,” he reassures quickly.</p><p class="western">“You… bought it for me?” Keith blinks twice. Something about the shape of the pink toy, and the hard smoothness of the silicone against Shiro’s skin is making him lose focus very fast. “What the fuck, Shiro?”</p><p class="western">“Well… I kind of figured you weren’t going to be properly prepared.” Keith opens his mouth to argue, but he can’t. “Baby, you bought lube...”</p><p class="western">And the superfluousness of that purchase has been apparent for a while, because when Keith wiggles his hips, he can feel the slick which his specially absorbent underwear is struggling to contain. The toy in Shiro’s hand has gone from looking intimidating to inviting.</p><p class="western">“I’m not going to take advantage of you Keith, but I can’t sit here and let you be in pain either.”</p><p class="western">“OK.” Keith’s voice is small. It’s a fight to get even that much out without whining.</p><p class="western">“Good boy. Now, you still want that kiss?”</p><p class="western">And Shiro opens his arms, everything about his sharp fanged smile and buttery rich scent unequivocally welcoming, and Keith wastes no time launching himself towards him.</p><p class="western">Shiro catches him and holds him close, arms sliding around his ribcage as their mouths slot together. It should be messy and uncoordinated with the way Shiro is forced to slump back against the heaped pillows of the nest, but it’s perfect. Shiro parts his lips, tongue wet and insistent at the seam of his mouth, licking into him with a chuff deep in his chest which Keith can’t help but trill in answer to, as he pushes his tongue against Shiro’s. Shiro tastes amazing, tastes like he belongs here, cradling Keith in his arms, and the points of his fangs are sharp and dangerous and perfect against Keith’s lips and tongue. He keens into the kiss, body arching under Shiro’s hands, legs spreading, hips seeking friction again. Having Shrio’s tongue in his mouth is bliss, but it’s not enough.</p><p class="western">“It’s OK,” Shiro practically pants the words into his mouth, barely pulling away. “Don’t worry pretty boy. Gonna take good care of you.”</p><p class="western">Keith can feel he hard weight of the knotting toy at his back, still held in Shiro’s <span>big</span> fist.</p><p class="western">“You wanna do it, gorgeous?”</p><p class="western">Keith whines, burying his face against Shiro’s neck and collarbone to drink in his scent. He can’t do it; his hands are shaking as it is. He presses the hardness of his trapped cock into Shiro’s bare thigh and trills.</p><p class="western">“Oh fuck! Oh yeah, yeah... I can totally do this.” In any other state, Shiro’s minor freak-out might be funny, amusing even. But now, the words spoken directly against Keith’s lips, it only makes him physically hotter, his breath coming shallow as he tries to grind against Shiro’s hip. “OK baby, you gotta hold still for me. Keith? Hey, can you do that for me Keith?”</p><p class="western">He knows his alpha wants him to say something. It’s difficult. One syllable is hard enough.</p><p class="western">“Yes.”</p><p class="western">“Perfect.” Shiro’s thumb traces the curve of his lower lip for a moment before dropping to his waist. “My beautiful omega.”</p><p class="western">“Shirooo...”</p><p class="western">Keith assumes his alpha knows what such a title does to him, and as Shiro’s big hands begin to roll his underwear down over his hips, long fingers cupping his arse, he feels the deep rumbling purr kick up in Shiro’s chest. He answers with a soft trill of his own, and then moans wantonly as he feels Shiro’s human fingers against his skin for the first time. He pushes back into the touch, presenting himself for his alpha like a good omega should, and Shiro groans against him as he parts Keith’s cheeks and runs a fingertip through his slick.</p><p class="western">“Stars...”</p><p class="western">The scent in the room is hot, aloe mixed with spice, the air like the desert at night before a thunderstorm, wet but fiery. When Keith feels the slightly cool tip of the knotting toy skim over his hole he whines. He almost wants to pull away, because it’s not his alpha; but Shiro told him to be still, and for Shiro, Keith knows he can be good. But then Shiro changes the angle, the tip slips in, and Keith keens. His body clenches, grabbing, wanting, and he presses lips, teeth, and tongue against Shiro’s chest as his body opens to the penetration.</p><p class="western">“Fuck.” Shiro sounds stunned. “God baby, look at you. You’re so fucking perfect, so wet…. Unnghh.” Shiro’s muscles tense as the alpha cranes his neck to see, and instantly Keith dips his spine more in order to give him a better view. “Taking it so well, sucking that toy in…. Fuck.”</p><p class="western">Keith tongues at Shiro’s throat, his skin burning, his body quivering with the stretch of his ass, the prickle of heat up his spine which makes the glands on the back of his neck throb painfully. Then Shiro’s palm is brushing over his heated skin as the toy seats itself fully inside him, and he feels <em>full</em>. He’s never felt like this, as though everything about him is being reshaped by the thickness of the toy inside him. He rocks his hips and cries into Shiro’s skin as every nerve lights up with pleasure, searingly white hot and better than anything he’s ever felt before. He is with his alpha, his alpha wants him, he is full. Then Shiro is easing a new, fresh pair of underwear up his legs, and Keith whimpers as his cock is trapped within the fabric.</p><p class="western">“Shhh, baby.” Shiro’s hand strokes across his ass once more, encouraging Keith to sink down against him. “You’re OK. Such a champ.” He frames Keith’s hips once more, and Keith finds Shiro’s thigh between his legs, pressing up into his erection even as each movement of the toy is his ass drives pleasure up spine. “Can I kiss you some more?”</p><p class="western">Keith doesn’t even bother to dignify this with a response, not that he can remember how to form words right now anyway. His hands are quick to grasp Shiro’s strong jaw, fingers raking through the alpha’s short shorn hair as he opens his mouth for the kiss. Shiro groans – a deep, happy rumble in his chest – as Keith licks into his mouth, and Keith feels his pulse sing at the knowledge that he is making his alpha happy. He sinks down against Shiro, melting into the pleasure of being held, of being so completely surrounded and filled by the man he loves. Shiro’s hands hold him fast to his body, flexing as he rocks Keith against his leg. Pleasure is stoked like a fire inside him; each drag of the toy against his prostate earth shatteringly good, the echoing friction against his cock making him shudder. Shiro keeps kissing him, the both of them dishevelled with the way Keith can’t keep his fingers out of Shiro’s hair. Shiro nips at his bottom lip, and Keith bites him back hard enough for it to sting. The jolt of Shiro’s thigh between his own causes the knotting toy within him to jerk deeper, and Keith cries as he feels the crest of his orgasm overtaking him.</p><p class="western">It’s different than before, less like falling off a precipice and more like a wave. Like the way birds ride on thermals without moving, holding themselves aloft for far longer than rational physics seems to allow. Keith moans into Shiro’s mouth, all attempts at organised kissing forgotten as he pants and licks at his alpha. Pleasure breaks behind his eyelids and keeps breaking, his cock jerking in his underwear and his pulse fluttering as his body spasms. He’s never had an orgasm like it, never been so high or felt so floaty, not even whilst flying.</p><p class="western">He comes back to himself by degrees, but everything feels far away and fuzzy. There is no ache now, only a deep-seated satisfaction at being full. He allows himself to drape across Shiro’s front, boneless and spent. His alpha is petting his hair, one big, slightly <span>firmer prosthetic</span> hand smoothing down the furrow of his spine, and Keith feels content in a way he never has before. But something hot and hard is jutting into his abs. He frowns, wiggles, and above him Shiro makes a bitten off whine of frustration. That simply won’t do.</p><p class="western">“You too.” Words seem like stupid things; his tongue is clumsy and kissing Shiro seems like a much better idea anyway. “Alpha have fun too.”</p><p class="western">“Fuck… Keith-!” Shiro’s gasp is interrupted by Keith licking back into his open mouth. Keith moans against him as he slides a hand between them and palms Shiro’s cock. “Oh shit-!”</p><p class="western">But whatever else Shiro was going to say ends in a deep groan, and Keith smiles as his alpha swells and jerks in his grasp, splashing messily between them. Keith grins, triumphant and sated. Shiro’s hand comes up to stroke his hair again, and the alpha’s wrist is close to his nose and he inhales deeply.</p><p class="western">Hot butter and baked things and soft spicy flavoured warmth.</p><p class="western"><em>Safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protected.</em></p><p class="western">
  <em>*</em>
</p><p class="western">Keith wriggles, whining. His skin feels prickly and itchy hot. His neck throbs, his wrists ache under their bandages, the texture of his underwear against his inner thighs makes him want to scream. He writhes, hips jerking, because friction is better than nothing, and Shiro’s body against him is warm and solid.</p><p class="western">“Shhh… I’ve got you baby.”</p><p class="western">The room is full of aloe, even over Shiro’s comforting flavours, and Keith whines again as he feels his internal muscles clenching, clamping down on the knotting toy. It doesn’t have the same effect as it did before, and he grits his fangs in frustration.</p><p class="western">“Shii-”</p><p class="western">“Don’t worry, sweetheart. It slipped, you moved around a bit when you were asleep.” Shiro sounds almost guilty. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you, even for a moment.” Shiro’s hand strokes down from his hair to his spine to cup his ass and Keith thrums with pleasure. “Hold still. There’s a good boy.”</p><p class="western">Shiro’s fingers find the base of the toy through his underwear, and the material is damp with his slick. Keith keens at the stretch, the pull of the muscles around his entrance as Shiro slides the toy back in. The thick knot at the base plugs him up again, and he melts once more against Shiro. A sense of fulfilment washes through him, turning his scent ochre and gold: his alpha is keeping him full and knotted up, he must be a good omega.</p><p class="western">“God… I love you so much Keith. You’re so good.” Shiro words are a rumble and Keith can only find the energy to reply with a soft purr of his own. “Shhh now, go back to sleep while you can.”</p><p class="western">Happy enough that Shiro is happy, Keith let’s himself slide back into unconsciousness, never once having opened his eyes.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">Cold wakes him. The skin of his back is all-over goosebumps, except for at his neck where his pulsing glands have now resolved to give him a dull headache. Keith curls tight in on himself for a moment, determined to return to the haze of sleep which was actually pleasant. But the movement reminds him that his underwear is tacky with his cum and his slick, and that he still has the knotting toy lodged within him. And no matter how good it was before, right now it is uncomfortable and annoying. His limbs shake as his peels off his underwear, his hips feel bruised as he spreads his knees and reaches to grasp the toy. It pulls out of his body with a wet slurp and a rush of slick, and Keith groans.</p><p class="western">Now he’s going to have to make another nest, and he doesn’t have any more blankets.</p><p class="western">Ruined underwear and the discarded toy hit the floor with a variety of wet thuds, and Keith hauls himself into a sitting position. And the weight of his situation comes rushing down his throat.</p><p class="western">He is alone in his nest. Alone. His alpha has abandoned him the middle of his heat. And of course he has, because Shiro is perfect and brilliant and gifted, and Keith is broken and worthless. No alpha like that wants to be with someone like him. The sharp, salty tang of his tears brings him to realise that he is crying, and Keith digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and clamps his jaw shut against the wail which tries to break from him.</p><p class="western">He will not cry over Shiro. Shiro isn’t even his. Obviously isn’t his.</p><p class="western">There is a noise outside, a soft thump on the other side of the door, the sounds of the handle turning and the latch system opening. Keith freezes, his blood running cold whilst his skin burns. Someone is trying to get into his quarters. There is a threat, he has no alpha, and he is in heat; too weak to fight anybody off, let alone a determined alpha. He makes a fist and bares his teeth, but even those actions cause ripples of pain through his muscles. All his energy has been sapped by his heat, and as the door cracks open Keith realises that despite his past, he’s never actually been truly and completely afraid before.</p><p class="western">“-just cancel the class or have someone else take it. I’m not <span>going to</span> be there. It’s an emergency.” Shiro uses his body to open the door and then his foot to close it, because his arms are full of bedding and blankets and a bag of what Keith thinks might be iced drinks, and his shoulder is holding his phone against his ear as he talks. “At least another three days. No. It’s not negotiable-” and then Shiro sees him on the bed, and his soft, almost neutral scent of warm cedar and new bread is flooded first with a wash of warm gold, and then by sharp thorns of red-hot anger.</p><p class="western">The alpha is angry with him.</p><p class="western">Everything falls from Shiro’s arms, the call cutting off as the phone cracks against the floor, and Shiro whirls around with his nostrils flared, scenting the room for danger. Then he turns back to Keith, eyes wide.</p><p class="western">“Keith? Sweetheart, what happened? What’s wrong?”</p><p class="western">Shiro is by the bed in three quick strides, falling to his knees, his face lined with worry.</p><p class="western">“Did something happen? Keith, please… talk to me.”</p><p class="western">Keith’s fingers twitch reflexively, so he grabs a handful of the ruined blanket. Every fragment of his hindbrain wants him to fall into the alpha’s arms and make Shiro so happy that he’ll never leave again. The rest of him – the bits of him that are still Keith, head Flight Mechanic, and not some silly omega in heat – wants to draw back and punch his best and possibly only friend directly in his stupidly pretty mouth. So he settles for not moving at all, even though he’s shaking.</p><p class="western">“Keith?”</p><p class="western">“You. Weren’t. Here.” Each word in an effort, but differently from before. It’s not pleasure that makes language hard now, but the remaining snake of cold dread in his belly. This alpha left him, this alpha hasn’t marked him, and he’s not safe.</p><p class="western">“I thought I could get back before you woke up. I’m so sorry sweetie.”</p><p class="western">“Don’t.”</p><p class="western">“Keith?” Shiro’s scent is all turned toward him now, rich and warm and wanting, but not contented. “What do you want me to do?”</p><p class="western">Instinct wars with pride, and pride loses.</p><p class="western">“Hold me.”</p><p class="western">“Baby...” Shiro is on him in an instant, crawling into the nest. But before he can get Keith in his lap, Keith simply yanks on Shiro’s clothes and hauls him down on top of his body like a blanket. Shiro cages him in with his bigger frame, and the tension uncoils from around Keith’s heart. “Oh my beautiful. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have left, but you really needed more supplies, and I couldn’t get anyone but the Admin Office on the phone at… it’s like oh-four-hundred.”</p><p class="western">Keith blinks. He hadn’t even realised it was dark outside.</p><p class="western">“I’m sorry for worrying you.”</p><p class="western">Keith grunts wordlessly and presses his face into Shiro’s broad chest. His alpha- no, still just Shiro, smells better now, not as worried or as guilty. Keith sighs against his skin, then squirms at the sensation of slick dripping down his inner thigh and onto the blankets. The nest is a mess, and lying on damp fabric is exactly as distasteful as he’s always thought it would be.</p><p class="western">“I wanna make the nest again.”</p><p class="western">“Whatever you need baby.”</p><p class="western">Keith holds tight to Shiro’s shirt front, even though he thinks it’s kind of pathetic, and allows himself to be brought upright as the big alpha stands once more. He tries not to think about the fact that he’s naked and Shiro is clothed, and fails miserably. He wants the alpha to be naked with him, and he also wants to get dressed even though his skin itches at the very idea of putting tight fabric around his body. He breathes in and out a few times, but his legs seem steady under him, and eventually he turns away from Shiro and the alpha takes half a step back.</p><p class="western">“Why did we need more supplies?” Keith chews his lip as he hauls the scratchy winter blanket and the ruined comforter off the nest. He was sure that he bought enough energy drinks to last his heat, even if Shiro thinks he is rubbish at preparing properly.</p><p class="western">“Wow, OK. You really weren’t aware of much, were you...” Shiro’s voice is fond and soft, but also touched with wonder and concern. His scent is full of butter and cinnamon again though, so Keith merely frowns at him over his shoulder. “You’ve been up a few times with each wave. Tried to get you to eat something each time but you were largely...resistant. Drinking was easier.”</p><p class="western">“Oh.”</p><p class="western">“You wanna eat something now you’re awake? How do you feel, baby?”</p><p class="western">The ingrained temptation to bounce back with ‘I’m fine’ lingers in his throat, but Keith is interrupted by the dual cramps of his stomach and his ass, which have apparently been empty too long. He glares at the discarded knotting toy and underwear on the floor, knowing he’ll have to clean it in order to use it again. Then Shiro presses a kiss into his hair, and Keith trills.</p><p class="western">“Why don’t you make the nest and I’ll sort out food and things? We’ve still got jerky, if you’re up for it? Or soup?”</p><p class="western">“I didn’t buy soup...”</p><p class="western">“My friend brought it over. Same one who brought the other stuff the first day.”</p><p class="western">Keith blinks. He replays Shiro’s words in his head and stares at his friend, nest building forgotten.</p><p class="western">“Shiro. What day is it?”</p><p class="western">“Thursday.”</p><p class="western">“You mean…?”</p><p class="western">“Tomorrow will be day four for you, yeah.”</p><p class="western">Keith blinks, because he’s just lost two whole days of his life to his brand new hormones, which he apparently has to live with for the rest of his life. And he can’t remember anything about them. Nothing. It’s terrifying.</p><p class="western">He sits hard back onto the bed, puts his head in his hands, and cries.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Mate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Keith gets scruffed, again. Only better</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>penultimate chapter! Thank you all so much for all the love, all the kudos and comments, retweets and hearts, and support.<br/>You know how I sprung extra angst on you? well, there is a pay off for that. have fun!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Because he did actually listen to Pidge, about what he should expect from his heat whilst waiting for the final results of his blood work, Keith knows that he’s more than half way through his heat <span>but</span> that the worst is yet to come. The very idea that there is more in store for him makes him want to cry again, but five minutes of tears is already more self-indulgent than he’s ever allowed himself to be with his emotions. So, he drags his knuckles over his eyes, and heads for the bathroom without glancing back.</p><p class="western">Walking to the shower is fine, but he slumps against the wall once he gets into the cubicle, energy sapped once more. He knows that the periods of relief between the waves of his heat won’t last, that the desperation will return all too soon, so Keith scrubs himself clan as fast as he can, because he doesn’t want to waste his time when he could be doing something useful. He’s never spent so long not working on something, or developing ideas in his head.</p><p class="western">He brushes his teeth <span>and</span> glares at his reflection as water drips from his hair on his shoulders. Where they land on the back of his neck the drops practically fizzle from the heat from his skin. Bits and pieces of the past two days float hazily back to him as he works methodically over his new fangs in tiny circles. It’s most memories of Shiro’s hands on his body, holding him, pulling him close, stroking his hair. Kisses – Keith uses a free finger to brush over his lips and they tingle with soft bruising – and Keith mouthing at Shiro’s neck, his wrists. He remembers whining, begging for what he knows he can’t have, and that Shiro shut him up with two fingers in his mouth. He flushes with the embarrassment.</p><p class="western">Keith’s had sex before, and it was fine. Not earth shatteringly great – because he thinks sex like that only actually happens in fiction – but not actually bad. He never remembers coming so hard he couldn’t see though. He wraps a towel around his waist because he hasn’t got any other clothes within reach and even if he did, he’s not actually sure he wants to wear them.</p><p class="western">The first thing he sees upon exiting the bathroom in his desk, his laptop sitting in the corner, the spread of design elements, layout paper, and precision drawing materials arranged there. Despite the fact that so much of high-level engineering can only be fully realised digitally, Keith likes to work things out the old fashioned way first, before paying for studio time somewhere with an interactive three-dimensional holo-projector. He stupidly thought he would have the time and energy between the waves of his heat to work on his latest ideas for the fine-tuned coolant system. He wants to be able to give Shiro that at least. Now he grips the edge of the desk, unable to make it all the way across his quarters without support, let alone do anything productive.</p><p class="western">The bed has been stripped, the sheets changed, the nest remade with all the pillows he owns and then some, and a variety of new, fluffy blankets. He picks idly at them, pinching and rearranging by microns until something in his needy hindbrain calms and allows him to sit. There is a towel, thick and fluffy, folded twice, and Keith crosses his ankles as he perches on it. Soon enough, he’s going to want to snuggle down into the plush softness of the nest, but he wants to resist as long as possible. Stubbornness is not a quality anyone looks for in an omega.</p><p class="western">Shiro is sitting by the door with his back to it, legs spread, elbows on his knees as he completes the calibrating finger touches on his prosthetic. He is frowning, and one inhale tells Keith that the alpha is only resisting pacing and patrolling the den by force of will alone. There are snacks and drinks arranged on the counter, more within easy reach of the bed, and a flask containing what he already knows is the soup Shiro spoke of earlier.</p><p class="western">“I hate this.”</p><p class="western">“The nest is wrong?” Shiro’s head jerks up immediately.</p><p class="western">“No.” Keith wonders at the way his own scent goes all soft, the natural rich spice struck through with a heady mix of poppies and sweet yucca. The tension across Shiro’s shoulders slacks, and Keith realises that without any kind of conscious thought, he provided reassurance to the alpha. He can’t even bring himself to be annoyed about it though, because it’s Shiro. “No, I hate this. I hate feeling so useless.” He picks at the blankets of the nest, then at the hem of the towel. There are no loose threads, it’s too nice a quality for that. “I was going to get stuff done whilst I was on leave. I thought I’d be able to-”</p><p class="western">But the end of the sentence doesn’t come, because Keith shuts his fangs on a groan, as a wave of heat rolls through from his hindbrain. This time, he’s aware enough to watch his body’s reactions, the way his temperature rises, the way his skin prickles all over, like the reverse of goose bumps. His pulse thunders for a moment in his ears – but not just there – because his neck, wrists, and thighs all respond in the same way. He wants to whimper, he wants to chirrup for his alpha, and have the big man come close and scoop him up… or press him down, sink after him into the nest and cover him with his body. He wants to be protected, defended, loved. He wants Shiro to scent him and mark him and…</p><p class="western">Keith tightens every muscle of his pelvic floor, but it’s not enough to stop the ache inside him, to halt the trickle of slick from his hole. The hot, wet sensation is not one he thinks he’ll ever learn to like, but already his vision is foggy, and he can feel his instincts telling him to lean into the feeling of being slick and open for his alpha; ready, waiting, eager to be filled up. Keith digs his fingernails hard into his palms, and wonders how much biting <span>himself</span> with his new pointy fangs will actually hurt. Even if he could get his bandages off before Shiro got to him, he doesn’t want to make <span>his wrist glands</span> bleed again though. The pain there is dull after the attention that Shiro gave him, but not gone entirely.</p><p class="western">That’s why Shiro hasn’t scented him. And Keith knows that an alpha sharing his heat, providing for him, and defending his territory against intruders whilst he was in the bathroom must be <em>his</em> alpha. A good alpha – he can tell as much from the rich salted butter scent in the room – but he’s not been scented. Because he’s not offered himself, he thinks. He knows that must be it. He hasn’t made his alpha welcome, hasn’t been accommodating enough. Of course not, because the only things Keith knows how to do properly are race hoverbikes and scare away anyone who might dare to try and be his friend.</p><p class="western">He whimpers.</p><p class="western">“Keith?”</p><p class="western">He knows he should offer his wrists to his alpha to be scented, knows that would be the right thing to do. But he can’t, because he’s ruined his wrists like a fool. He can’t offer his neck, not for a first scenting, because Shiro might feel pressured to bite him, and the last thing Keith wants is to <span>coerce</span> his friend into something he doesn’t really want. Shiro’s only helping him of course, they’re just friends.</p><p class="western">He could offer his thighs, the scent glands there throb, and the second Keith thinks it, his skin burns with how much he wants it. He wants Shiro there, close enough to touch him, those big, big hands wrapping around his hips and his thighs. He wants to open his legs for the man he loves so that Shiro can run nose, lips, and tongue over the glands which burn hotly on his inner thighs.</p><p class="western">But he can’t ask Shiro that. Shiro’s not even his. He shouldn’t be asking him for anything, it’ll ruin his chances of finding a real mate, a proper omega-</p><p class="western">“You have to stop saying things like that.”</p><p class="western">Shiro’s hard tone cuts through his inner thoughts, and Keith blinks as he realises that he’s been speaking aloud. He wonders when he started, dislikes this new habit of his, and hunches in on himself with a whine.</p><p class="western">“Who else’s would I be, Keith? I’m here with you.”</p><p class="western">“You… feel obligated.” Keith manages eventually, his throat clogged with the crushing disappointment.</p><p class="western">Shiro makes a noise which is almost a snarl.</p><p class="western">“Don’t tell me how I fucking feel, Keith.” Shiro hardly ever swears. Keith blinks, watching him closely as the alpha gets up: he’d almost forgotten how big Shiro is. “I know exactly how I feel. I love you.”</p><p class="western">“But I’m broken!”</p><p class="western">“You’re perfect.” Shiro doesn’t snap like Keith is expecting, instead his voice is warm, full of adoration and other emotions Keith doesn’t want to let himself name. Because Shiro shouldn’t be feeling them for him. “You’re perfect and you’re just going to have to believe me.” Shiro drops on to his knees next to bed. “You believe me, don’t you baby?”</p><p class="western">Keith’s vision swims. Shiro is so close to him, hands resting on the blankets, his face hovering mere inches away, all too close to where Keith really wants him. His cock twitches, wanting, and Keith blushes as a drop of clear liquid appears at the tip and rolls down the shaft. Shiro watches it too, and their eyes meet when the alpha clears his throat before flicking his gaze back up to Keith’s face. Keith knows he’s blushing, that his arousal is obvious, his desperation transparent. His vision has gone soft focus again as his heat rolls over him. The scent of aloe fills the space between them.</p><p class="western">“Can I show you that I love you?”</p><p class="western">Keith screws his eyes shut, because he can’t deal with Shiro looking at him like that and saying those things at the same time. Not when his cock is bobbing inches from Shiro’s face and he is slicking readily. Then Shiro’s hands smooths over the bones of his knee, and he can practically feel the alpha’s scent and heartbeat.</p><p class="western">Shiro is here, here with him. Shiro is <em>safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protecting</em>. Keith trills for him.</p><p class="western">“Keith? Sweetheart, look at me?”</p><p class="western">Keith obeys, because why wouldn’t he? Looking at Shiro is one of his favourite things to do anyway.</p><p class="western">“You still in there, baby? Talk to me.”</p><p class="western">“I love you.”</p><p class="western">“Oh Keith…” Shiro doesn’t sound like he believes him.</p><p class="western">“I do. I love you Shiro. I have for ages.” He whines, but he fights it. He needs to Shiro to know this, to understand that Keith means what he says; before heat comes and takes him fully. Keith can feel it there in his mind, growing more powerful with each heartbeat. “Even if you never can win when we race, I still love you.”</p><p class="western">Shiro’s grey eyes light up, and he surges up to kiss him, lips warm and insistent against his own. Keith opens for him right away, because this is perfect and good and right. Nothing has ever been better than Shiro in his arms, wrapping around him and holding him close. When the alpha pulls back to breathe, Keith trills at him again. He uncurls his legs, feet falling over the edge of the nest, rocking back on his tail bone as he displays the glands on his inner thighs for his alpha.</p><p class="western">“Oh Keith… fuck- Keith, you’re so beautiful.” Shiro touches his lips gently with one thumb, and Keith flicks his tongue across the faintly textured exo-skin, before Shiro moves south. “Such a pretty boy. My pretty <span>omega</span>.”</p><p class="western">Keith wants to agree with him, because he doesn’t know about ‘pretty’ but he <em>is</em> all Shiro’s – every single atom – but words are far too complicated just now. Shiro says something about him being gone, but Keith barely understands. All he knows is that he wants Shiro to scent him so badly it almost hurts, and he actually does hurt deep inside where his body is trying to clench and close around nothing. He feels too empty. He whines.</p><p class="western">“Hush now, I’ve got you Keith. There’s nothing to worry about.” Big hands grip his thighs, turning his hips, displaying the swollen skin of his scent glands even more prominently. There’s no underwear in the way this time, and Keith can’t tell what’s oil from his over stimulated glands and what’s slick. But Shiro rubs the pad of his human thumb across his scent gland and Keith’s brain illuminates as though struck by lightning. “Ohh… good boy. So proud that you’re mine, Keith.”</p><p class="western">And then Shiro shifts forward, his nose trailing along Keith’s skin, pressing at his scent gland, placing a kiss there as he inhales, moving across to the other as he scents there too, and Keith is suddenly dizzy. His head spins. Nothing he’s ever read or been told ever mentioned that scenting was good for the person <em>being</em> scented. But it is, this is heaven. Surely. Then Shiro licks him – a broad swipe across first the left scent gland, then the right one – and Keith realises he was wrong, and this is heaven instead. He moans openly and falls back against the nest of pillows.</p><p class="western">His hands shift down to touch Shiro’s, fingers entwine briefly, and then Keith moves to pull away.</p><p class="western">“No,” Shiro breathes over his thigh. “Touch. Please Keith.”</p><p class="western">So, Keith allows his fingers to skim up to Shiro’s head, raking through the short buzz cut at the back before he begins to comb the thicker black section at the top. Shiro presses tight into his thigh, breathing him in and sending endorphins shooting directly up Keith’s spine as he tugs at his friend’s long white forelock.</p><p class="western">“Nnngh fuck-” The flat of Shiro’s teeth scrape over the sensitive skin of his glands as he speaks, and Keith adores to hot rush of breath which accompanies the expletive. “Beautiful Keith.” The sensation of his lips is no less brilliant and Keith keens. “God, I’m so lucky to get to have you.”</p><p class="western">“Shi- Shi- want…” Keith’s abdomen heaves with the effort of drawing breath. His body is flooded with pleasure, but he still aches within. Shiro mouths across his gland, and Keith’s cock twitches. “Shiiiirrro!”</p><p class="western">“Hush baby. I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” Shiro pets along his ribs and down the flat of his belly, then his big hand curves around Keith’s hip. Keith shudders in his hold. He wants more. “Here, I cleaned it up already.”</p><p class="western">He has the knotting toy. The pink bulge near the base of the shaft looks thick and weighty even in Shiro’s hand, and Keith wonder’s if it’s much different from the alpha’s own knot. Shiro kisses his gland again, soft and chaste before rubbing his nose and cheek over it, and Keith’s logical thought process dissolves completely as he realises the alpha is marking himself with Keith’s scent. Marking. Like Shiro belongs to him. Which is impossible.</p><p class="western">“I’m yours, Keith.” Shiro’s voice is low and reverential as he draws back far enough to encourage Keith’s hips forward, thighs falling even further open. “I’ve been yours for years.”</p><p class="western">He’s wet with slick, and Keith whines as his alpha drags the tip of the toy up to his hole, slow and careful in a way which makes Keith gnash his fangs impatiently. But the slide of the phallus inside him is accompanied by Shiro’s face pressed close to his skin, scenting him deeply even as the thick knot breaches his body. Keith whines as it pops inside, wriggling his hips, and Shiro chuffs in pleasure. The fingers which wrap back around his thigh once more are shiny with fluid. The smell of aloe blooms strong between them. Shiro drags his cheek over Keith’s scent gland and ends up with his face pressed to Keith’s erection.</p><p class="western">Keith knows he shouldn’t. He knows that alphas are dominant, that they lead, especially during sex. He knows he’s supposed to lie back in the nest and be pliant and supple for his alpha. And he wants to, he does, but this is Shiro. And Shiro has always been up for a tussle. His fingers clench in Shiro’s white forelock and he tugs the alpha closer. Shiro growls, and the low rumble sends a thrill up Keith’s spine.</p><p class="western">“That’s my boy.” Shiro’s words are mouthed directly against the shaft of his pulsing cock, and Keith snaps his teeth on a whimper. It feels so good. “You’d better believe I’m all yours. What is it you want, pretty boy?” The alpha’s eyes flash back up to him as he speaks, tongue, lips and teeth all grazing along his length, his slick lubed fingers teasing at Keith’s balls, stroking up underneath them but not venturing to the place where the toy splits him open and plugs him up. Not yet. “Show me where you want me, Keith.”</p><p class="western">He growls at the taunt from his alpha, grabs Shiro by the back of the neck without thinking about it and pulls him up until the head of his cock is at Shiro’s unfairly pretty mouth. There’s no hesitation, no tease now. Shiro locks his gaze with him as he sinks down the length of his cock, enveloping him in sucking wet heat as he plays his tongue down the shaft. Keith makes a wordless noise of pleasure, his jaw aching with the tension of not snapping his fangs again, and he curls over Shiro’s head as he comes. It’s too quick and too shallow – he’s still hard, he can still feel the desperate pull of heat under his skin – but he <span>vibrates with</span> Shiro’s hum around him as he swallows.</p><p class="western">Oh fuck.</p><p class="western">Shiro’s scent is all pleasure, gold motes glinting in the air around them, and Keith feels his answering notes of yucca mixing with the butter and baked-things flavours of Shiro; reminding him of the kind of breakfasts he’d been treated to when his father was still alive. Shiro holds tight to his thigh, large prosthetic hand wrapping around his waist, pressing into the small of his back to keep him just where he is. Shiro doesn’t let up, his tongue moulding along Keith’s cock as his head bobs, and Keith realises he has pulled hard enough that there are a few loose strands of white hair stuck between his fingers. When he drags his blunt nails across Shiro’s scalp though, the alpha purrs in unbridled pleasure. Keith moans.</p><p class="western">Shiro’s hands go soft on him as the roll of his heat floods through his body once more. His spine melts as the alpha lays him back against the nest of pillows. Keith whines – though he’s not sure why – and pulls and handful of soft fabric towards him. It smells of Shiro, and part of his brain just knows that Shiro laid on, and slept in, these blankets to make them smell like him and not like they came from a store, and that he did it just so Keith would find them comforting. Comforting or not, the scent of Shiro in his nest is arousing and Keith’s hips hitch up unconsciously. Shiro only groans as the head of Keith’s cock bumps into the back of his throat, but the movement rocks the length of the thick toy within him and Keith cries out again. He wants more, wants his alpha to swallow him and keep him and scent him again and again. Keith half rolls, burying his face and shoulders in the soft nest, whimpering at the dual sensations of slick and spit and the constricting heat of Shiro’s mouth on him. He’s so hard, he’s never been so turned on in his whole life. He doesn’t care how wanton he sounds when he cries out Shiro’s name, hands scrabbling for purchase in the nest, overstimulated and wanting to get away but also wanting more and more and more.</p><p class="western">Shiro pulls off him slowly, the action accompanied by a series of long slurps and licks, and Keith shudders with each and every one until his chest is heaving. Shiro looks a mess, chin and cheeks wet and hair disarrayed where Keith has pulled it, but he is beaming with all his fangs on show. Keith feels his heart lurch almost painfully under his ribs.</p><p class="western">“Alpha.” Keith’s not even sure why he says it, except that it seems to be the only word he knows any more.</p><p class="western">Shiro presses a large warm hand onto his chest over is heart, and Keith feels his breathing fall into a familiar slow rhythm without being asked. Shiro smiles, clearly pleased by his response. Keith trills, a little noise of pure joy, and Shiro rumbles back, turning his face into Keith’s thigh to nuzzle at the gland there. Keith jerks up into the touch, but Shiro’s hand travels down to his abdomen, low between his navel and his cock, and pins him in place.</p><p class="western">“Breathe baby. That’s right. Such a good omega. My good omega.”</p><p class="western">The praise makes Keith preen and blush, but Shiro only smiles warmly and drops a kiss to his thigh once more.</p><p class="western">“How do you feel. Can you say something for me, baby?”</p><p class="western">Keith opens his mouth, but he just whines. He turns and hides his face again.</p><p class="western">“That’s alright sweetheart. You’re doing so well.” Shiro’s hands wrap around both his knees, and Keith finds himself automatically pushing back into that grip, flipping himself fully round to present himself for his alpha. “Oh, sweet boy. I wish I could… I’ll treat you right though. You wanna stay like this?”</p><p class="western">Keith can’t find language or conscious thought enough to fully understand the question, but he whimpers when Shiro tries to pull away. Suddenly there is heat at his back, and his alpha is crawling over him, covering his body, caging him in with his large frame. Keith’s lashes flutter shut as he feels the tug of scent filling up all his olfactory receptors. He is <em>safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protected</em>; he can let go. It is as good as a command, and Keith lets all the tension in his body go until the only thing keeping his legs in place are Shiro’s knees behind his. The alpha presses over him, hard heat against his ass, and the toy within shifts further, grinding against his prostate. Keith whimpers into the cushions.</p><p class="western">“Easy now… there…” Shiro’s hand drops down his body, petting his thigh, and then travels between his legs to wraps around his cock. Keith bucks up into him, and Shiro simply holds him tighter, closer, leaving no room to wiggle against the pressure front or back. “Got you baby. Good boy.”</p><p class="western">“Shiii-”</p><p class="western">“Go on baby. Tell me.” Shiro’s grip around his cock is loose, wet with his slick and leaking precum, and he drops his hand to lessen the friction. Keith growls in protest, fangs clenched as he pushes his forehead into the nest, and Shiro chuckles softly in his ear. “You’re doing so well sweetheart. Show me what you like.”</p><p class="western">Keith thrusts down into his alpha’s hand, desperate to show Shiro what he wants to see, <span>frantically trying to find</span> pleasure and relief for the heat prickling across his skin and making the back of his neck throb with the burning desire to be claimed. Shiro follows his movements, keeping pace with his hips, driving pleasure into him even as Keith fucks himself into Shiro’s fist. Shiro kisses the back of his neck, licking over his glands, and the scrape of his teeth – blunt at this angle, not biting, not marking, but still <em>there</em> – makes his whole body shake with need.</p><p class="western">He’s with his alpha, almost nothing could be better, but he wants more. He wants.</p><p class="western">“You’re doing so well baby.” Shiro’s weight presses him down into the nest fully. “Such a good omega.” Teeth skim over his skin again, and Keith bucks into his alpha’s body and whimpers into the blankets. His breath is hot and damp against his own face, Shiro’s breath is a balm over him when he ducks his head low and whispers in his ear. “My Keith.”</p><p class="western">Keith gasps silently, every muscle tense as he spills himself into his alpha’s hand. Pleasure wipes his vision – no longer fuzzy at the edges, but gone completely – just before his consciousness folds in on itself. Nothing matters but Shiro’s solid presence at his back, the rich scent in the air around them, and the knowledge that he is <em>safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protected</em> with his alpha.</p><p class="western"><a id="__DdeLink__2284_1178653762" name="__DdeLink__2284_1178653762"></a> He hasn’t got marks. But Shiro is his.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">“Here, try this.”</p><p class="western">Keith grumbles indistinctly, and turns his face back into the curve of Shiro’s neck, breathing deeply.</p><p class="western">“You can’t actually survive off scenting alone, baby. You have to eat something.”</p><p class="western">Grumpily, Keith huffs and turns to snatch whatever Shiro is offering him with a quick snap of his teeth. When his fangs close around Shiro’s knuckles he sighs, happy, vision slipping out of focus once more with the scent of his alpha so close. His tongue touches something which isn’t Shiro, and the focus on the raspberry’s soft and bumpy textures allows Shiro to remove his fingers from Keith’s mouth once more.</p><p class="western">“That’s my boy. Last round took a lot out of you. You going to try some soup for me?”</p><p class="western">“Only if you eat too.”</p><p class="western">“Deal,” Shiro replies with a broad grin, and Keith feels like it was far too easy a negotiation. “Turn for me sweetheart. I don’t want to drip on you.”</p><p class="western">“I do enough of that for both of us,” Keith grunts, but he’s too tired to put actual force into his words. The towel beneath him has been changed for another – equally fluffy and plump – though he’s the only one who seems to mind the all-pervasive scent and texture of his slick. He twists in Shiro’s lap, bracketed by the alpha’s thick thighs, and plucks with annoyance at the sweats Shiro is wearing. “Why are you still dressed?”</p><p class="western">“I had to go out for supplies, remember?”</p><p class="western">“Please don’t do that again.”</p><p class="western">“Next time we’ll be better prepared, Keith. Food and drinks for two. I promise.” Shiro makes it sound like it is his fault, not Keith’s. Like he didn’t have to haul Keith back here over his shoulder. Keith feels his face burn with the memory. Like always, the alpha seems to be able to read his mind. “This was all sprung on you pretty quickly, Keith. It takes practice to remember everything. Heck, I know plenty of alphas who still haven’t got their rut routines down to a science.”</p><p class="western">“You do,” Keith points out sulkily.</p><p class="western">“It’s once a year, I just add it to the calendar like renewing my pilot's licence.”</p><p class="western">Keith frowns, and picks at the seam of Shiro’s stolen-borrowed sweats.</p><p class="western">“Do you enjoy it? I mean,” Keith pauses to open his mouth for the soup spoon Shiro is holding out for him. It is a warm, savoury mouthful, and Keith feels it bloom through his body the moment he swallows. Turns out he does need real food. “Is a rut this boring?”</p><p class="western">Shiro appears to consider this; Keith swallows another spoonful of soup, then tuts so that the next one is redirected up to Shiro.</p><p class="western">“Well, it’s doesn’t last as long. Mine is three days, two actually, but I take a day to recover and sleep for like, eighteen solid hours.”</p><p class="western">“Lucky.”</p><p class="western">“The territorial pacing and paranoia aren’t so much fun though. Here, finish the soup.”</p><p class="western">Keith takes another mouthful, then shakes his head,</p><p class="western">“All of it sweetheart.”</p><p class="western">“I’m not hungry.” Keith knows he sounds like a petulant child, but already the satisfaction of eating and of having his alpha feed him is wearing thin, replaced by the now familiar ache of his body clenching around nothing. The knotting toy is clean once more and sitting on the night stand, but he doesn’t want it back inside him. The effect is less than it was forty-eight hours ago.</p><p class="western">“You’ll need the energy. Today’s going to be the worst bit.”</p><p class="western">Keith swallows the next spoonful of soup, then dips his head and places his lips to the rim of the bowl so that Shiro can pour the final dregs down his throat. The alpha makes a deeply pleased rumble in his chest, and Keith's spine vibrates in sympathy with the sound.</p><p class="western">“Shiro… I don’t want to.”</p><p class="western">“Keith…”</p><p class="western">“I don’t.” Keith swivels in his lap and wraps his fingers tight into the front of Shiro's hoody. He wants to slip his hands underneath it, wants to slide the whole of himself underneath it and feel Shiro's skin against his own. “I don’t want to be out of my mind again. It’s…”</p><p class="western">He can’t say how scared it makes him. How awful it feels not to have control over his body when for years his body was literally the only thing he <span>did have</span> control of. He couldn’t control where he lived, who his family of the month was, where he went to school, or how the people there treated him. His body was all he had, and he kept careful watch over it. It isn't anything special, but it’s his. And now his body and his mind aren’t his own. Even now, he can feel his hindbrain watching , looking for an opening as the heat builds under his skin, like the wind picking up across the desert before the rains come hammering down.</p><p class="western">And Shiro… he knows. Somehow, he knows and Keith finds the big alpha’s nose in his hair, lips brushing over his skin, nuzzling down to find the swollen, heated skin at the back of his neck. When Shiro places a kiss over each of the glands there, Keith trills despite himself. Endorphins flood his system and he groans as his cock twitches against his thigh, already interested.</p><p class="western">It would be a dirty trick, except that Keith is still fully present in the moment, and it feels so good to have his alpha scent him.</p><p class="western">“Another twelve hours baby. You can do it. No one can take on a challenge like you can, sweetheart.”</p><p class="western">“Y-yeah?”</p><p class="western">Shiro wraps his prosthetic arm around Keith’s waist, tugging him close as his human fingers skim across his skin; tracing all around his belly and thighs, touching him everywhere except where Keith really wants him to. The press of a warm palm over his navel makes him groan softly.</p><p class="western">“Yeah. I’ve never seen you faced with something you couldn’t beat. You can win this one too, Keith.”</p><p class="western">Keith is seized by a sudden panic, because Shiro is saying all the right things, and his scent is like heaven, but his neck throbs and his wrists hurt and there are no teeth marks anywhere on him, on either of them. He takes Shiro’s face in both hands, pressing on his sharp jaw and handsome cheekbones. Shiro smiles, his eyes soft.</p><p class="western">“Promise me,” Keith half-barks, desperate. “Promise me that when this is over, you’re not suddenly gonna be gone.”</p><p class="western">“Baby…”</p><p class="western">“Promise, <span>Shiro</span>!”</p><p class="western">Shiro responds by spanning Keith’s hips with his hand, shunting him right up into his lap. Keith can feel the length of Shiro’s cock against his and he can’t help but rock into the matching hardness.</p><p class="western">“Keith… never. I won’t leave. I promise.” Keith feels something tight untwist from around his heart as Shiro speaks. “Baby, they’d have to jettison me into space to get me away from you.” Shiro ducks forward, lips moving past Keith’s ear, hand curling over the back of his head to keep him close so that he can access the back of his neck once more. The graze of lips and teeth there makes Keith squirm, slicking as he pants into Shiro's skin. “I’m all yours.”</p><p class="western">“Mine?” Keith echoes, hardly daring to believe what his alpha is saying. His fingers quest under Shiro’s clothes without his conscious decision to do so. Shiro’s abs are a thing of beauty.</p><p class="western">“Yours.”</p><p class="western">“Please…” Keith pants against Shiro’s clavicle. He can feel the edges of his vision clouding over, the temperature in the room seems to climb. “Please touch me <span>Takashi</span>.”</p><p class="western">“Oh baby… you trust me?”</p><p class="western">Keith digs fingernails into his alpha’s chest, trying to pull him ever closer.</p><p class="western">“Keith… say something.”</p><p class="western">Keith blinks up at his alpha, trills at the soft smile and the lips which frame the shape of his name. He lets his legs fall open and tastes the answering swell of sweet, salted spice in the air.</p><p class="western">“Alpha, please.”</p><p class="western">“Oh, such a good boy. My sweet, perfect omega. Come here.”</p><p class="western">Keith leans in, and is promptly interrupted by the fabric of Shiro’s clothes forming a barrier between him and his alpha. He scrabbles at it ineffectually, and then Shiro’s chest is under his hands, his mouth, and he trills in delight at the enormous expanse of skin and scent available to him. He presses his whole self against Shiro’s body, but whimpers as his internal muscles contract painfully once more.</p><p class="western">“Beautiful boy. I love you, Keith.”</p><p class="western">Keith trills again, words are too hard. Shiro’s big hand comes up to caress over the back of his neck, and Keith knows what his alpha wants to do without being told. He nods sharply, pressing back into the touch. He trusts Shiro, of course he trusts Shiro. Shiro is here with him, wrapped in his scent and his arms and Keith knows he is <em>safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protected.</em> He thinks nothing of dropping his head to press his face into Shiro’s collarbones as his alpha changes the hold on the back of his neck.</p><p class="western">His grip goes firm, tight, a fraction below painful, and then Shiro shakes him, just a little. Keith slumps into his arms, completely docile once scruffed, and melts as Shiro purrs his name. His alpha pets down his spine, then returns to feeling his skin, smoothing over his soft stomach and the tops of his thighs, nearly touching where his slick trickles down but not quite. Keith trills when Shiro’s hand closes around his cock, again when the alpha kisses around his mouth and down his jaw, and a third time as Shiro’s broad thigh is slotted between his legs. He doesn’t rut, he can’t, because he is pliant and soft, but every touch is like a brand, and the simple friction of Shiro’s fingers is enough. Keith comes with his teeth pressing into Shiro’s skin, plastered against his chest.</p><p class="western">“My sweet omega. Such a good boy.” Shiro kisses him, even though Keith can barely kiss him back. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”</p><p class="western">Keith believes him. He blinks, just once.</p><p class="western">“I’m all yours, Keith. Always.”</p><p class="western">Keith trills.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Bite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Keith's heat is over, and there's something he wants from Shiro now that he's all healed up.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for coming on this omegaverse roller-coaster with me! To those of you who have been commenting on every chapter, please know you have my whole heart and I have loved every single scream, keysmash, and string of emojis you've sent me.</p><p>This chapter comes with new art from the wonderful <a href="https://twitter.com/babushkaHiHi">BabushkaHiHi</a> whom you should commission if you ever have the chance as they are a delight to work with.</p><p>Big shout out to <a href="https://twitter.com/@leandralena">Lole</a> for being the best beta/editor I could wish for. I couldn't have done it without you.</p><p>Thank you so much for your comments, questions, and support xxx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Keith straightens up as he finishes fitting the final screw in panel fourteen, stows his precision screwdriver in the tool holster strapped around his upper thigh, and turns at the sound of a jet coasting into the hangar. He smiles, a soft twitch at the corner of his lips, and folds his arms across his chest as he watches with a critical eye as the sleek black and grey craft settles on its floor markers. It’s a flawless landing. As it should be with the new, no-longer-prototype controls and the recently installed responsive landing gear. The hatch over the cockpit hisses with pressure before it pops open, and Keith allows himself the precious few moments to watch his favourite sight in the world.</p><p class="western">It’s not a view he’ll ever tire of, one that makes his heart race every time. Shiro, the best pilot of his generation, the greatest instructor Keith has ever known or worked with, and the best scented alpha in the world, jumps down from the cockpit and pulls off his helmet, sticking it under his arm as he yanks the front of his jacket open. He reaches up and runs his hand through his shockingly white bangs, combing them back and away from his face, not that the hair will stay. And then he sees Keith watching, and the easy smile which is produced simply by the effect of flying, broadens until Shiro is beaming at him across the hanger, all his fangs on show. He raises a hand in greeting. Keith can’t resist, and he smiles back as he walks away from his workstation, hooking his thumbs into his pockets as he goes.</p><p class="western">
  
</p><p class="western">“Hey Keith!”</p><p class="western">“Hey. Good flight?”</p><p class="western">“All the best flights end with seeing you.” Shiro sees him frown, and rolls his eyes. “Yes, the response on the new landing gear is excellent, and that custom joystick grip is heaven. Thank you.”</p><p class="western">Keith wants to say ‘you’re welcome’, but instead he opens his mouth, and fucking trills at his best friend. There are not many people standing close enough to hear, but Keith senses rather than sees a few heads tilt in their direction. No one on his staff has said anything to him yet – despite the fact they all very clearly know why he was off on emergency medical leave last week – and Keith is smart enough to realise he can’t avoid his colleagues questions for long. All those thoughts fall away though when Shiro blushes – deeply pink across his cheekbones and the tips of his ears – and Keith arches an eyebrow as Shiro clears his throat and… adjusts himself. Keith chews his lower lip, his own scent going sweet with yucca and desert poppy in response.</p><p class="western">He elbows Shiro in the ribs as they both turn to look at the distinctive test jet.</p><p class="western">“Have you not had enough practice controlling yourself yet, <em>Takashi</em>?”</p><p class="western">Keith knows it’s dirty move, to say his best friend’s name like that, and Shiro’s arm around his shoulders goes tight a fraction of a second before the big alpha is knuckling his scalp with his prosthetic hand. They fall into playful rough housing easily, just like always, but Keith digs his fingertips into Shiro’s armpit and his friend lets out a ridiculous squawk, pulling Keith down as he falls. Keith drops onto him, one knee on the ground, the other hovering over his abdomen without pressure, and grins.</p><p class="western">And then he trills again.</p><p class="western">Shiro’s eyes go dark instantly, lips parting in an unconscious gesture of desire, and Keith can feel the heat radiating off his best friend’s skin.</p><p class="western">“Developed a pavlovian response there, have we alpha?” Keith keeps his voice low, private and just for Shiro. Shiro shudders bodily.</p><p class="western">“Keith….”</p><p class="western">“You’d better get that under control Captain, your class will be here soon enough.” Keith shifts back onto the balls of his feet, then bounces up, offering a hand to the alpha. “Up you get, big guy.”</p><p class="western">Shiro coughs into his hand once standing and shifts his weight from foot to foot like he’s nervous. Keith frowns.</p><p class="western">“Shiro?”</p><p class="western">“How’s your wrist?”</p><p class="western">It’s Keith’s turn to colour quickly, but he sticks his arm out and forces himself not to fidget as Shiro unfastens the strap of the fingerless glove and peels back the leather to look at the thin skin of his inner wrist. It’s been five days – which is already five days too many in Keith’s opinion – and his glands have healed well. The scabs are gone, the new skin which came through was very pink like scar tissue often is, but is fading into a more usual shade pretty fast. Now Shiro runs the pad of his thumb across the gland, and the gesture feels possessive and intimate, too much so for being somewhere so public. Keith sees it when Shiro’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he can’t say which of their breathing stutters the loudest.</p><p class="western">“Looks really good.”</p><p class="western">“Yeah?”</p><p class="western">“Nearly all healed up. Does it hurt?”</p><p class="western">“No.”</p><p class="western">Shiro presses a touch harder, and Keith winces.</p><p class="western">“Yes, fine, it still hurts.”</p><p class="western">Keith hates the way his glove feels rolling back up over his skin, but he tries not the think about it too much as Shiro, his best friend and the man he loves, fastens him back into his clothes. It takes all of Keith’s willpower not to just tilt his head and whimper in order to get his alpha to give him the attention he so desires. But Shiro has been adamant, they have to wait. When Keith messaged Pidge to try and prove to his friend that things were fine, his new doctor had sided wholly with his alpha. He needs to wait until his glands are fully healed and producing scent oils once more before his alpha can-</p><p class="western">Except that Shiro’s not his alpha, not yet. Technically Shiro’s not his anything. All they’ve done since Keith’s heat ended is kiss, and Keith’s been completely unable to hold back his trill every single time.</p><p class="western">“Soon, Keith.”</p><p class="western">“Yeah…”</p><p class="western">“I promise. Soon.” Shiro smiles, and it’s warm and genuine. “You want to race tonight or spar?”</p><p class="western">“Spar. Definitely. I could do with a real challenge.”</p><p class="western">“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, pretty boy.” Shiro counters, his grin turning smug. “I have to go run a seminar with the Senior Cadets; get them ready for the new simulator. It should be up and running in another week. You want to walk with me?”</p><p class="western">“Alright.”</p><p class="western">Keith ducks his head as Shiro walks with him back over to the main workbench, where his tools are still waiting for him beside the parts for a new spoiler array control system that he’s been tinkering with for the past few days. It’s coming along nicely and Shiro lets out a low whistle.</p><p class="western">“When is that going to be ready for me to play with?”</p><p class="western">“Soon enough. I promise it won’t explode on you like the one on the hoverbike though.”</p><p class="western">“Wait, what did you do to my hoverbike?” Shiro looks aghast.</p><p class="western">“Not yours!” Keith rolls his eyes and barks a laugh, unbuckling his tool belt from around his thigh and hips, before slinging it onto the workbench. “One of the standard Garrison-issue ones. I tried to beef up the engine but it nearly took off – it’s not a fucking plane – so, more down-thrust required.”</p><p class="western">“Sounds fun. You sure you don’t want to race tonight after all?” Keith can hear the goad in his friend’s voice, but he folds his arms and refuses to rise to the bait.</p><p class="western">“And pass up the opportunity to get you hot and sweaty and pin you to the floor? Not likely.” Shiro has gone really red now, it makes Keith proud. “Go on, go teach your students.”</p><p class="western">“Fuck… I love you.” The soft, guileless way it just slips out of him – just like that confession has been slipping out from between Shiro's lips for nearly a week now – makes Keith weak in the knees.</p><p class="western">A short, soft, undeniably happy trill pulses from his vocal cords, and Shiro’s smile is devastatingly proud. Keith can’t even hang his head in shame, because Shiro’s scent is buttery and warm. He’s made his alpha proud, and Keith doubts he’ll ever get used to that feeling. They walk together, close but not quite touching, out of the hangar and into the hot, mid-afternoon sun. Keith elbows Shiro in the ribs again.</p><p class="western">“If I win, you have to take me out for ice cream again.”</p><p class="western">“Deal. If I win?”</p><p class="western">“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Have fun, Shiro.”</p><p class="western">Shiro catches him around the forearm, holding just a fraction too tight for polite company and for a fraction too long. Keith suddenly wishes they were somewhere that wasn’t in public in the middle of the Garrison base. When Shiro leans in towards him, Keith can’t help it, and he trills.</p><p class="western">Shiro’s eyes go dark and longing, and the chuff he makes in return is touched with a note of a whine. When the big alpha tears himself away it’s with a mournful sigh, and Keith wonders how long they’re going to be able to keep resisting each other.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">The Cadet flying the simulator crashes out in a fairly spectacular manner – a flick of the wrist which sends the craft into a spinning nosedive and directly into a perpendicular rock face – but that’s nothing compared to the tantrum which follows. Keith leans back against the far wall of the lesser observation room, where the techs have their stations, rather than the one where other students and instructors watch from. He chews his lip whilst the echoes of angry disappointment and impotent frustration reverberate down the corridor.</p><p class="western">“This isn’t fair! It’s fucking impossible!”</p><p class="western">“McClain! You are speaking to your superior officer.”</p><p class="western">“He’s right though.” Keith recognises the voice of the cadet who was the first to wipe out in the new and improved simulator, and who only appeared to be able to stop himself from hitting something because his friends intervened. “It’s broken or something. We know how to fly a jet, but that thing has been set up by a moron.”</p><p class="western">“Senior Cadet, Second Class Griffin!” Keith never thought he’d be pleased to hear Commander Iverson’s voice ever again, but the alpha sounds pissed. “Mind your tone.”</p><p class="western">“Perhaps they could do with a demonstration?” The smooth voice of Lieutenant Allura Alforson cuts across the argument like it’s not even happening, and Keith can well imagine how her slightly musky juniper scent will help to settle tempers as well as quell other people’s desire to fight. “Captain?”</p><p class="western">“They should learn from the best,” the Captain defers.</p><p class="western">“Get the test pilot in here.” Iverson barks, and Keith doesn’t wait to see who they send as an errand-boy, and pushes himself off from the wall, finger-combing his bangs as he wanders from one observation room to the other. The situation is almost exactly as he imagined it, with the two failed Cadets on their feet looking equally mad, the rest of their class in various states of dread and disbelief. Keith doesn’t alter his course to step around the Commander, but it’s a near thing. He still doesn’t like the alpha, or trust him. “Kogane, show them how it’s done, would you?”</p><p class="western">McClain looks flummoxed. Griffin, furious.</p><p class="western">“But he’s a mechanic!” McClain’s nostrils flare as Keith passes between him and the hatch of the simulator, the disbelief in his eyes is palpable.</p><p class="western">“He designed and patented nearly half the elements in your new cockpit McClain, show some respect.”</p><p class="western">Keith arches an eyebrow at the big alpha standing by his shoulder.</p><p class="western"><a id="__DdeLink__1154_986060161" name="__DdeLink__1154_986060161"></a> “Hardly <em>half,</em> Captain.” Keith can’t help the way his eyes travel over Shiro when he replies, lingering on the smooth skin of his neck and the stripe of wrist revealed by the tailored sleeve of his uniform jacket. Shiro looks back at him, staring just a bit too long and a bit too intensely for a professional capacity, but Keith doesn’t care.</p><p class="western">The omega Cadet shuffles his feet in the silence. Keith wants to hiss and snarl at him for the interruption, but he resists.</p><p class="western">“You’re being too heavy handed with the controls, that’s all. You’d be a decent pilot if you could resist the temptation to stop showing off.”</p><p class="western">“And you can do better, can you?” The other Cadet, Griffin, snaps.</p><p class="western">Keith barely spares the beta a glance.</p><p class="western">“Yes.”</p><p class="western">He ducks through the simulator hatch as it opens and takes a seat in the pilot’s chair. To his surprise, Shiro follows him, and straps into the secondary seat.</p><p class="western">“Co-piloting today, Captain?”</p><p class="western">“I thought I’d give commentary,” Shiro remarks easily, but his gaze is hot across Keith’s skin.</p><p class="western">“Just don’t throw up.” Keith adjusts his head set with a frown as the simulator boots up. “Vomit is not an approved lubricant people, and I will be taking clean up fees out of your personal credit accounts if you screw up.”</p><p class="western">He doesn’t actually know if he has the ability to do this, but to Keith’s surprise, no one corrects him. It seems that Commander Iverson did not like having to approve part of his budget for McClain’s last mishap.</p><p class="western">Keith loves flying the simulator. He doesn’t like being watched particularly, but he’s grown used to that. Ever since the moment he got back off heat leave and discovered Shiro had already managed to get the Garrison to approve of his new joystick bearings in all the six-series and above craft, he’s been booking some serious hours in both the regular sim, and the new one built specifically for training the Cadets on the new handling controls. All the flight instructors have already had the bearings installed, and it had been almost funny to watch everyone, from Shiro’s rank and down, have to retake their basic exams in the new simulator.</p><p class="western">Now though, with Shiro in the co-pilot seat, it’s easy to forget that there is a whole host of Cadets outside watching their screens and the cameras which are trained on the joysticks so they can see exactly how Keith moves the craft. Now, he flies just for himself, and for the alpha in the chair next to him. It’s a good thing no one outside the simulator can scent them, because the air is like the back row of a movie theatre. Keith drinks it down, and keeps his smile to himself.</p><p class="western">“OK, here’s the bit where you went wrong.” True to form, Shiro is commentating Keith’s flight for the observation gallery. “Watch how he moves his wrist. Just there – see it? It’s a lot more subtle, there’s much less drag with the new controls which allows for far tighter and faster movements. The jet is reacting to you in quicker time, which means you can pull off those sharper turns. You want to boost up ahead and show them a Crazy Ivan?”</p><p class="western">Keith knows that Shiro wants to call him something, tack some sweet endearment onto the end of his request, because his scent has gone all hot with a tang of sharp salt, but he resists. The fact he’s doesn’t force Keith to acknowledge the relationship everyone can surely smell between them in public only makes Keith's inner smile brighter.</p><p class="western">“Sure thing, Captain.” There is a smooth plane coming up ahead in the simulator, a wide U-shaped valley between rocky red hills. It’s perfect for the sharp turn, break, twist, and thrust the Crazy Ivan manoeuvre requires. “Hold on. We’ll break six-G’s doing that.”</p><p class="western">By the time they are finished, Keith is breathing hard, far harder than simply sitting in chair would warrant, but then flying anything; hoverbike, simulator, or jet, has always made his pulse thunder in his ears. Shiro looks no less affected.</p><p class="western">They exit the simulator shoulder to shoulder, and someone at the back of the room makes an over-exaggerated gagging sound. Whoever it is gets neatly clipped by a pen which flies from Lieutenant Alforson’s grasp with near deadly accuracy, and shuts up pretty quickly.</p><p class="western">“I’ll finish putting the rest of them through their paces and send you the scores, Captain Shirogane,” she says with a controlled, but clearly delighted smile. “You should probably walk Mr. Kogane up to the boardroom; they need him to sign the usage contracts for the new patents before we can start installing them in the teaching jets.</p><p class="western">Commander Iverson merely nods in agreement, and Keith resists the urge to give a derisive snort. Shiro was clearly correct in his assumption that now Keith has presented as an omega, no one in the Garrison is going to stand in their way. They make their way out of the observation room and into the main hanger still side by side.</p><p class="western">“Explain something to me…” Keith frowns, lacing his fingers together in order to settle the leather of his fingerless gloves more firmly in between each digit. “Why did Iverson basically threaten me before my heat to stay away from you?”</p><p class="western">“He did <em>what</em>?”</p><p class="western">“Easy there, big guy. You don’t have to fight anyone for me.” Keith lays a hand on the alpha’s forearm and squeezes just once. Since his heat broke, the only person his omega-hindbrain has made him act differently around has been Shiro, and only because he wants to be more openly possessive with his alpha. Clearly the watching everywhere he steps and being aware of escape routes is a pre-heat thing. Keith is glad. “He insinuated that I shouldn't distract you, because you are important to the Garrison.”</p><p class="western">Shiro blinks a few times, then slaps himself on the forehead with his prosthetic hand.</p><p class="western">“Ohhh… that’s what Allura meant!”</p><p class="western">“Huh?”</p><p class="western">“She asked me something about pacing outside your door for five days, which was sort of weird. Seems everyone else assumed I’d already made my move and you’d said no.”</p><p class="western">Keith glances back over his shoulder at the simulator and observation room. He can’t see the Commander, but he wants to stare daggers at him anyway.</p><p class="western">“He was worried I would… lead you on?”</p><p class="western">“I guess?” Shiro appears to find the whole situation funny, and Keith can’t be bothered to summon the energy to be mad at someone whose opinion isn’t important anyway.</p><p class="western">“So, do I really have to go sign more contracts?” Keith has already spent half a day signing so many things his wrist hurt, and his thumb was warm from where he’d needed to record his biometric signature.</p><p class="western">“No. I just think they didn’t want us getting scent on the walls.” Shiro stops and his big hand on Keith’s elbow turns the two of them together. They are outside now, standing in the shadow of the main Garrison building. “How’s your wrist?”</p><p class="western">“Here.”</p><p class="western">It’s easy now, natural, to offer up the thin skin on the inside of his forearm to his alpha, to feel his heart rate climb as Shiro unfastens his glove and peels back the leather, to sense the sweet change in his scent as soft fingertips play across the gland there. They come away very faintly oily, even though Keith’s next heat isn’t due for two months.</p><p class="western">“Baby…”</p><p class="western">Keith smiles, bites his lip, and utters the line he’s overheard so many times as a joke from bad porn.</p><p class="western">“Take me to you den, Alpha.”</p><p class="western">He’s not expecting Shiro to scoop him up bodily, but he does just that. Hefting Keith over his shoulder as though he weighs no more than a sack of potatoes, Shiro carries him away.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">Shiro’s quarters are larger than his, and the alpha has clearly been online to order replacements of all the soft furnishing from the nest which are still, inexplicably, at Keith’s. Everything is clean and tidy, the bed neatly made, stacked high with pillows and cushions at one end. Keith sees the four varieties of drink bottles laid out on the counter, along with a little take out box of cake which already has him salivating, and he wonders how long Shiro has been planning to bring him back here.</p><p class="western">“Been plotting this for long, have we?”</p><p class="western">Shiro flushes, like he’s embarrassed by how well he’s presented his home for Keith’s inspection, and the pink flush across his cheeks is fucking adorable. Keith doesn’t wait for an answer, but wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck and hauls him down for a kiss. Shiro groans against him, hands hot on his waist, and then Keith finds himself lifted up to sit on the counter top.</p><p class="western">“You spent all that time on the bed and we’re not even going to use it?” he murmurs against Shiro’s lips as they both come up for air. From this position, it’s so easy to wind his fingers into Shiro’s hair, playing with the soft strands and dragging his nails over the buzz cut at the back. Shiro presses his face into Keith’s neck and groans happily.</p><p class="western">“We’ve got time.” He pulls back and blinks at Keith, a tiny frown marring the space between his eyes. “We’ve got time, right Keith? I’ve not been reading this wrong for the past two weeks or something?”</p><p class="western">His uncertainty is almost endearing. Keith can’t resist another jab.</p><p class="western">“You still can’t beat my scores in the simulator, who says you’re good enough- whoa!”</p><p class="western">He clings to Shiro’s head for balance as the alpha grabs him around the hips, before throwing him onto the bed. He bounces on the mattress, but Shiro is already on him, pinning him down with his larger frame, lips and teeth nipping up Keith’s spine as dexterous fingers shove his clothes out of the way. Keith would be embarrassed by how instantly hard he is, but when Shiro shifts his hips, he feels the alpha’s answering erection against the back of his leg, and it sends a thrilling shudder through him.</p><p class="western">Shiro is much bigger than the knotting toy, and Keith’s not in heat.</p><p class="western">Keith wants to twist, to see his friend, to help with the super-fast shucking of clothes he can hear and feel as they are discarded behind him, but Shiro presses in between his shoulder blades and Keith goes happily down into the soft bedding. He doesn’t know if it’s biology, or just because it’s Shiro; but not even in heat had he felt this wildly horny. He wants Shiro to hold him down and fuck him – the fact that the alpha seems determined to do just that makes him trill the moment Shiro’s hands smooth over his skin.</p><p class="western">“Fuck… you’re beautiful, Keith.”</p><p class="western">“Shiro! You can’t just say that.”</p><p class="western">“Why not?” Shiro cups his ass firmly, squeezing until Keith moans. “You going to stop me?”</p><p class="western">The tone of challenge is something Keith has never been able to resist, especially not when the one offering the challenge is Shiro. He doesn’t reply, but simply covers the prosthetic hand holding his ribs with his own, briefly, before sliding his grip up Shiro’s forearm and yanking him off balance. The bed isn’t big enough to throw the alpha over his head, but he catches Shiro off guard enough to clamber on top, pinning him down. To his surprise, the alpha’s grey eyes have gone dark with hunger and desire, and the air between them has gone tangy and sweet like salted caramel. Shiro growls in proud satisfaction, and Keith answers with a boastful snarl of his own.</p><p class="western">“I love you.” He doesn’t mean to say it, but Keith resists the urge to clap his hand over his mouth as the words escape him. It’s true, the truest thing about him, and now it’s out there without the influence of heat. He can’t think of a single reason not to have said it sooner. “I love you, Shiro. I love you. And I want you to be mine.”</p><p class="western">“Good. Yes. Same.” Shiro’s chest heaves underneath him, and Keith suddenly realises that he is straddling the alpha’s ribs, their fingers twined together over Shiro’s head. Keith’s not sure why he thought this position put him in control, because quite clearly it does not. And he does not care. “I love you too. And I’m yours.”</p><p class="western">“And I’m all healed up.”</p><p class="western">“Yes.” Shiro turns his head and drags his nose and lips over Keith’s wrist. Keith’s breath stutters, and for a moment he thinks he’s going to hyperventilate. “You are.”</p><p class="western">If Shiro scenting him over his neck and thighs was good during his heat, it’s got nothing on this. As the alpha presses his open mouth over Keith’s wrist gland and drinks in his flavour through the leather of his gloves, pleasure spirals through him. Endorphins flood every receptor in his brain at the sight of his alpha’s eyes sliding closed, expression lax and soft, <em>trusting</em> Keith with his vulnerabilities. Keith trills, and the answering chuff of breath makes his cock twitch and jerk in his underwear.</p><p class="western">He really wishes he was naked.</p><p class="western">“Please… Takashi…”</p><p class="western">“Keith.”</p><p class="western">Keith ducks his head, pressing his face into the curve of Shiro’s neck, close, but not directly onto the scent gland on the back of his neck, just under the hairline. He whines, and it’s a pathetic noise, but he doesn’t care. Shiro releases one of Keith's hands and trails his prosthetic fingers down the furrow of Keith's spine. Keith rolls his hips under the touch, helpless and delighting in it.</p><p class="western">“What do you want, baby?”</p><p class="western">“Bite me.” Keith knows – without being told – exactly what it is Shiro is doing. Keith’s not in heat, he <em>can</em> use his words, and Shiro wants to remind him of that. He is here, competent, cognisant, and able to consent. And he wants to. Enthusiastically. “Bite me, alpha. Claim me, make me yours.”</p><p class="western">Shiro’s smile is blinding.</p><p class="western">“Yes.” Something melts inside Keith with the word. A promise he has full faith in. “But, you first.”</p><p class="western">“Really?”</p><p class="western">In the reading Keith has done in between the end of his heat and this moment, there has been a lot about mating marks and bites, and the various choices couples make about whether they mark all their partners glands, or just the neck. But all the articles and opinions pieces and <em>r/mates</em> forum posts have all been unanimous in their agreement that – whoever asks – the alpha always bites first. It’s just the way things are. But one look in Shiro's dark eyes, Keith knows that just because he’s an omega doesn’t make him any less than Shiro is. It doesn’t make him less than he was, back when he was as a beta, and Shiro loves him just the same. He nods.</p><p class="western">“Wrists too?”</p><p class="western">“Yes. Please, baby.”</p><p class="western">Keith braces and lifts himself off Shiro in order to remove the rest of his clothes. He strips efficiently, Shiro does the same, but a small grunt stops him when he reaches for the straps of his fingerless gloves.</p><p class="western">“You want me to leave them on?”</p><p class="western">“Yes. At least, just for now.”</p><p class="western">“OK.” And it’s easy to agree, to do what Shiro wants. Because what Shiro wants is what Keith wants, and what Keith wants, Shiro wants. No knowledge has ever been so certain before, and Keith thinks his hindbrain might finally be useful for something after all.</p><p class="western">He settles back over his alpha’s impossibly narrow waist, doing his best to ignore the fact they are both achingly aroused. A bead of precum instantly transfers in a shiny drip from the tip of his cock onto Shiro’s skin, and Keith blushes just a little. Shiro smirks, and pets across his <span>dick</span> before gently beginning to roll his foreskin back over the cockhead with his prosthetic fingers. He holds out his other hand – his human hand – to Keith, and it’s the first time Keith realises that, of course, Shiro only has one wrist to offer him. He takes Shiro’s hand, stroking over his knuckles like he’s precious – because he is – and lifts his palm to his face to take a deep hit of that hot buttered scent he has adored for years.</p><p class="western">“Bite hard. Nice clean mark.”</p><p class="western">“Yes.”</p><p class="western">Keith presses a kiss to the gland – faintly swollen and oily from arousal – tastes the rich cedarwood flavour he loves so much, then tightens his grip as he sets his teeth against the skin. He bites, twelve new fangs slicing straight through skin and into the soft tissue of the scent gland; marking it, scaring it, binding him to this alpha permanently and with everything he is. The rich copper and brass taste of Shiro’s blood coats his tongue, and Keith sucks hard reflexively, just for a moment, before he unclenches his jaw and lets go. The wound – four individual marks framing the gland – stands out stark and dark red over the alpha’s skin. Shiro licks over them, his saliva the final genetic piece the bond needs to form the proper mark, and leans forward to kiss Keith in the same movement. Keith wants to fall into him – his blood singing with desire and the need to join himself with Shiro in the way his body dictates to be right – but his job is not fully finished.</p><p class="western">“You did so good baby.” Shiro’s praise makes him shudder, his cheeks heating, even though they are both naked together. “My perfect omega.”</p><p class="western">“<em>Shiro</em>…”</p><p class="western">“Up.” Shiro commands with a quick tap on Keith’s hips, and Keith goes before he can question the movement. Underneath him Shiro twists over, offering up his back, tilting his head forward to expose the nape of his neck.</p><p class="western">It hits Keith all over again what a big deal this is, what faith Shiro has in him to trust him with this. An alpha’s instincts always arm them for defence, for protection, to be ever watchful of their backs. And yet here is Shiro, assailable, assured that Keith will not use this advantage against him. Keith trills, loudly.</p><p class="western">“Like the view?” Shiro asks, a smile in his voice he’s not bothering to hide.</p><p class="western">“Yes.” Keith runs his nails down Shiro’s musculature. “Very much.” He presses two finger tips to each of Shiro’s neck glands. “You ready?”</p><p class="western">“For weeks, baby. I’m all yours, Keith.”</p><p class="western">The bites are swift, strong, simple. It’s an easy thing to do, now that Keith knows he wants to do it, but it’s still not a thing done lightly. Shiro cannot lick the back of his own neck, and biology has made it such that there has to be trust and cooperation between an alpha and omega to complete the mating bond. Without words, Keith touches at Shiro’s lower lip and the alpha opens for him, bathing two fingers with his tongue so that Keith can smear them across the fresh bites which mark him – obviously, publicly, and indelibly – as belonging to someone.</p><p class="western">“My turn?” Keith can’t stop his voice from shaking as Shiro turns over once again. He can no longer see the mate marks, but he can feel them like the tug of G-force in the pit of his stomach whilst flying. They belong to each other, as inescapable as gravity.</p><p class="western">“Your turn.”</p><p class="western">Keith moves to offer his still gloved hand to his alpha, but Shiro grasps him around the hips and lifts him easily. His thumbs practically meeting in the dip of Keith navel as he is turned, and Keith finds himself once more seated in the alpha’s lap, his back to Shiro’s broad chest.</p><p class="western">“Shiro?”</p><p class="western">“Call me old fashioned,” Shiro muses aloud as there is the distinct sound of a lube bottle being uncapped – and Keith wonders when on earth he had time to grab that. “But I really want to mark you up whilst you come on my knot. That alright with you baby?”</p><p class="western">Keith shudders, because he seriously doubts any words have ever sounded hotter to him before. Shiro’s prosthetic hand comes up under his jaw, turning and tilting his face up, and Shiro matches the slide of his tongue in Keith’s mouth with the invasion of his fingers. Keith groans into the kiss, already messy and uncoordinated, as Shiro opens him up. He is careful, methodical, and the angle and extra reach of his long fingers has him pegging Keith’s prostrate on every stroke until Keith is a whining mess in his lap. His cock is leaking almost as much as it was during his heat, and Keith is surprised to find that he actually misses the aloe vera scent of his slick. He arches into every touch, loving the way Shiro’s other hand is a cool, firm anchor over his sternum, keeping him grounded whilst he writhes. Shiro noses at the back of his neck and a soft growl rumbles deep in his chest.</p><p class="western">“Fuck, you smell amazing baby.” Shiro groans again, wordless, and now Keith can feel a thick bar of heat against his lower back where they are pressed together. “So damn good. And all mine.”</p><p class="western">Keith trills.</p><p class="western">“I’m so lucky.” Shiro kisses the back of his neck, and Keith whimpers at the faintest brush of teeth which vanish too quickly. “You ready, baby?”</p><p class="western">“Yes, I’m fucking ready.” Keith barks out the words, teeth snapping. “Stop asking me if I’m OK and just ta- Ahhhhh!”</p><p class="western">“Like that?” Shiro grunts, breathless and smug with the way he slips his fingers out, lines up his cock and thrusts in, all in the time it takes for Keith to draw breath. “Fuck Keith… you’re so fucking tight. Shit- so good baby. Perfect little omega…”</p><p class="western">Keith keens, teeth set into his lower lip, his whole body tense with the pressure, the pleasure, the fullness he has never known before. He can feel Shiro inside him everywhere, every inch of the alpha’s cock splitting him open and stoking fire across every nerve ending. His breath catches in his chest, his fingers scrabble for a hold on something, anything, until Shiro grabs his wrists and tugs them up and over, holding them behind his own head so that Keith’s body is a single, taut curve. Keith is helpless and he loves it. He wants nothing more than this.</p><p class="western">Shiro rolls his hips up, and Keith chokes on air because he swears he can feel the alpha’s cock in his <em>throat</em>, he’s that full. The smack of Shiro’s hips against his ass hikes up his pulse, and Keith pants double time as Shiro begins to peel one of his gloves off whilst keeping up his relentless fucking.</p><p class="western">“Shhhh… breathe baby.” Shiro grinds deep into him, pleasure sparking up Keith’s spine. “You’re doing so great.”</p><p class="western">He cries when Shiro kisses his scent gland, expecting the sharp sting of teeth, whimpering as he receives the soft, insistent wetness of his tongue instead. Keith pants, his vision fuzzy at the edges, and pushes himself back onto Shiro’s cock at the same moment as his alpha bites him.</p><p class="western">The pain is unimportant, but the high which comes with it is dizzying. Keith swears he can feel Shiro’s pulse flooding through him, their heartbeats lining up as the alpha sucks deeply and kisses over the fresh bite. He releases Keith’s hand, still fucking into him without pause, and it takes all of Keith concentration to remember he has to seal the bond with his own mouth. He licks over his new wound, and the pain fizzles through his synapses. He whines needily, and practically smacks Shiro in the temple in his haste to offer up his other wrist.</p><p class="western">“Fuck, baby…” Shiro kisses his fingertips oh-so-softly as he peels off Keith’s remaining glove, slow and soft, almost reverential, and as a total counterpoint to the unending, devastating roll of his hips. “You’re so beautiful, Keith. I’m so proud to be yours.”</p><p class="western">Keith’s cock jerks messily with the words, and then again at the drag of all Shiro’s many inches across his prostate, then a third time when his alpha bites cleanly and without warning into his wrist gland. Keith feels heady with the force of his not-orgasm, pleasure so intense he doesn’t know how he will take any more of it and remain conscious.</p><p class="western">Then Shiro is holding his bleeding wrist up to his mouth, and Keith licks at himself blearily. Shiro chuffs in his ear, and Keith trills in answer; automatically happy that his alpha is happy. Shiro wraps both arms around his chest, hauling them both tight together, and somehow fucks into him ever deeper. Keith yowls.</p><p class="western">“You going to take my knot, baby?”</p><p class="western">Keith is barely aware of the loud whine which escapes him at Shiro’s question. He is aware of Shiro’s dark chuckle against the back of the neck, the brush of the alpha’s lips and teeth over his swollen, pulsing skin.</p><p class="western">“I love you.”</p><p class="western">“A-alpha, please-!”</p><p class="western">“Please?” Shiro sounds far too smug for someone who’s pulse is so fast and loud.</p><p class="western">“Fuck! Knot me, alpha. Shiro, please. Please, just do it!”</p><p class="western">Shiro snarls, bites his shoulder without breaking the skin, and obliges him with an earth shattering thrust of his hips. The stretch is obscene, enormous, Keith whines and whimpers as his muscles burn with the pain of taking something so huge inside himself. And then he trills, because the pain is gone, Shiro is seated fully within him. Keith can barely think past the words <em>knot</em> and <em>full,</em> going around in his head as though the navigation system in the sim is broken and only repeating part of the required coordinates.</p><p class="western">“Fuck… Keith…” Shiro sounds as overcome as Keith feels, his hips jerking in little erratic bursts as he pulls Keith tight against his chest. “You’re so fucking tight. God-”</p><p class="western">Shiro’s lips kiss over his neck, there is the faintest graze of his teeth against the swollen, throbbing skin of his glands, and Keith keens with how close he is to the edge of his orgasm. He can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears, and he cries, pushing back, forcing all that Shiro has inside him. The moment he realises there’s no backing away from this, Shiro’s fangs slice through his skin, and he spills himself all over the sheets, coming untouched with his alpha’s teeth in his neck. Shiro breaks away to gasp a breath – a short, sharp, sudden inrush of oxygen – and then he makes his second bite on the other side, stronger and deeper somehow. Keith feels it in his head and his heart and his belly when his alpha’s knot swells inexorably and locks inside him.</p><p class="western">He trills, because Shiro filling him with his seed is not a feeling he’s ever going to get used to, and it makes him feel strong and primal in a way he doesn’t adequately know how to explain.</p><p class="western">It feels right.</p><p class="western">When Shiro’s human fingers touch at his parted lips, he simply opens them further, allowing his alpha to scoop up his saliva, applying it to his new mate marks. Keith is boneless and satisfied beyond reason in his arms, but his blood sings as the bond is sealed.</p><p class="western">He belongs to Shiro. Shiro belongs to him. The air tastes like buttered popcorn.</p><p class="western">Shiro takes his palm and kisses it and Keith trills.</p><p class="western">He is <em>safe</em> and <em>secure</em> and <em>protected</em>.</p><p class="western">He is <em>loved</em>.</p><p class="western">He can’t move from Shiro’s lap, not with the alpha’s knot swollen inside him, plugging him up and keeping him full of Shiro’s claim, so he goes with his alpha as Shiro lays them back into the nest, pillowed on the million cushions. Keith half turns to find the space he loves under Shiro’s arm so much. He feels sleepy and sated, but energised all at once. It’s nothing like heat sex.</p><p class="western">“We didn’t actually have sex during your heat, baby,” Shiro comments gently, his voice soft and lilting, familiar. Keith realiseshe must have spoken aloud, and apparently that’s just a thing he does now. Nice to know that his carefully curated vocal filter has fucked off permanently, now that he’s told Shiro how much he adores him.</p><p class="western">“I’m glad.” Keith sighs his smile, happily exhausted. “I wanna remember that. That was awesome.”</p><p class="western">“Some people really like heat sex, you know.”</p><p class="western">“No, I like this.” Keith finds Shiro’s jaw with his hand and brings him down for a kiss which lasts minutes. “I like being here with you and able to focus and feel everything.”</p><p class="western">Shiro makes a pleased rumble deep in his chest.</p><p class="western">“Mmm… me too, baby.” He kisses Keith in return. “Move in with me?”</p><p class="western">“Marry me,” Keith counters without question.</p><p class="western">“Meet my parents,” Shiro wagers.</p><p class="western">Keith pauses, a smile playing across his lips even as his new mate marks throb with the connection between them.</p><p class="western">“Race me through the desert until we are covered in sweat and dust, and buy me ice-cream?”</p><p class="western">Shiro grins.</p><p class="western">“Every damn day, beautiful. <em>My beautiful Keith</em>. That isn’t even a question.”</p><p class="western">Keith beams at his alpha, pressing close to his chest, and he trills. It’s a quick, undeniably happy little chirrup, and Keith’s never been so pleased to have made it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THE END</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please come chat with us on <a href="https://twitter.com/SashaDistan">Twitter</a></p><p>This author responds to comments.</p><p>Thank you to the incredible <a href="https://twitter.com/@leandralena">Lole</a> for being an awesome beta reader.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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